


Bait

by jane_x80



Category: NCIS
Genre: Case Fic, Episode: s02e22 SWAK, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pre-Slash, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_x80/pseuds/jane_x80
Summary: A string of Tony lookalikes are being abducted, raped and murdered and Fornell and the FBI ask to borrow Tony to be the bait for the serial killer. Gibbs and the MCRT as well as Fornell's team back him up during this op where Tony has to pose as a gay man who goes clubbing after a bad break up in order to put himself back out there. Tony embraces the role and transforms himself into one of the men being targeted. Will the serial killer take the bait? And will Gibbs be able to handle watching Tony dance, flirt, and be groped by random strangers in clubs, night after night as he plays the bait? Or will he pull the plug, given his hidden feelings for Tony?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jesco0307](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesco0307/gifts), [Knowmefirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowmefirst/gifts).



> This is the first time I'm participating in the NCIS Big Bang and I know I've whined about it quite a bit to anyone who will listen. It was definitely a challenge as it forced me to work very differently from my usual MO (e.g., post the whole story in 1 day). And for the first time, I had a beta. I can't thank [jesco0307](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jesco0307/pseuds/jesco0307) enough for her efforts in beta-ing this story. Her comments are, as always, insightful, very constructive and ultimately inspiring, all helping to make the story better. That said, I have also been editing like crazy up until the last minute. Any mistakes/errors remaining (or created after jesco0307 beta-ed) are mine alone.
> 
> Edit: 18-19 OCT 2016  
> Check out the [awesome artwork](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8313055) by [knowmefirst](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowmefirst/pseuds/Knowmefirst)! I've added the artwork to this story and wow, I seriously love it. Thank you so much! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place somewhere in the beginning of s12. Bishop has only been with the team a few months and not even a whole year yet.
> 
> Edited to add the new banner! Wheeee! :D

It has been a very long and grueling month of work. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs and his team have been working practically non-stop as case after case came up and kept being assigned to them, sometimes even overlapping, one beginning before another ended. It isn’t that NCIS is short-handed, or that there is a sudden spike in crimes perpetrated by and against Marines, the Navy, or their dependents, but that the cases that have cropped up in the past month have been deemed “high profile” by the Secretary of the Navy, and DC’s elite MCRT keeps being requested.

The team is fast approaching their limit though. It is only three in the afternoon but Ellie Bishop is tucked on the floor behind her desk, a blanket covering her, fast asleep. Timothy McGee is snoring softly, head down on his chest, sitting upright in his chair. Anthony DiNozzo, the Senior Field Agent is typing half-heartedly with one hand on his keyboard, the other propping his head up, stifling yawns and trying very hard to finish up the final report before he too, can succumb to a nap. In an admirable show of loyalty, his junior teammates have decided to stay at their desks until he is finished so they can all leave together, but given that none of them have slept properly in over three days, Tony has given them leave to sleep while he finishes the never-ending paperwork that is the bane of every Senior Field Agent’s life.

The elevator dings open and their boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs walks out. Even the indomitable Gibbs has an air of weariness. He stops by DiNozzo’s desk and hands his SFA a cup.

“Uh, thanks boss, but I really can’t drink anymore coffee, Boss,” Tony says around a yawn, not even looking up from his screen. “I just have to finish this report and then I’m going to go crash.”

“Take it, DiNozzo,” Gibbs keeps holding the cup out until DiNozzo wearily takes it.

“Thanks Boss,” he mutters, and places the cup on his desk.

“Drink it,” Gibbs orders, noting the lines of exhaustion on Tony’s face and the bags under his eyes. His Senior Field Agent had worked extremely hard, and if Gibbs wasn’t careful, the man would work himself to the bone for him. He tries not to think about why the man would do such a thing – he isn’t ready to think about that. But even exhausted and with a downtrodden air about him, Tony is still magnetic and so handsome that sometimes it is hard to look away from the man. Gibbs clamps down his inappropriate feelings, keeping his face serious as he orders the man to drink his drink.

Frowning, his lips turning down in an attractive pout, which reveals the deep dimples in his cheeks, the ever obedient DiNozzo takes a sip, and realizes that Gibbs has not brought him coffee, but instead it is a deep, rich hot chocolate and if he’s not mistaken there are marshmallows and whipped cream in it. He takes a long drink and breaks into a dreamy smile, sighing appreciatively, which makes Gibbs’ heart stutter.

“Love you, Boss,” he says, gifting Gibbs with a small, almost shy smile, trying to quell the blush that threatens to heat his face, denying that warmth in the pit of his belly from Gibbs’ simple and, quite probably brotherly act of affection. Tony mentally rolls his eyes at himself at this train of thought. After over a decade working with Gibbs, one would think that his mind would no longer stray into that territory. But, the heart wants what the heart wants, and doesn’t that just blow chunks, Tony thinks. Out loud, he says, “This is just what I needed,” and keeps smiling that small smile.

Gibbs gives him a half smile and nods, refusing to admit the slight flutter in his chest from Tony’s declaration. He waits until Tony looks up to meet his gaze. “You did good today, DiNozzo,” he says and feels an inordinate amount of pleasure when Tony’s cheeks flush with pride and his sleepy green eyes brighten. Even after all these years, Tony still needs to hear Gibbs praise him every so often. “Finish up and you can all go home.”

“On it Boss,” comes the soft reply. Tony happily drinks his hot chocolate and begins typing furiously. A half hour later, he emails Gibbs a copy and prints a copy to be signed, stapled and placed on Gibbs’ desk. With a flourish, he brings it over and drops it into Gibbs’ inbox, now piled high with their collective reports. “I already signed off on Bishop’s and McGee’s reports and they’re all in here for your final approval,” he says, tapping the stack in Gibbs’ inbox.

“Go on, git,” Gibbs tells him, nodding his thanks. “Make sure McGee and Bishop get home OK.”

“Will do, Boss.” Tony nudges McGee gently, and when McGee opens his eyes and blinks sleepily at him, he smiles. “Time to go, McSleepyhead.”

McGee flashes a look at Gibbs’ desk, an automatic reaction, and Gibbs nods his agreement while Tony goes over to Bishop’s desk and crouches down, carefully tapping her shoulder to wake her up.

The elevator dings and Gibbs looks up to see FBI Agents Fornell and Sacks striding into the bullpen. They have serious, determined looks on their faces.

“Gibbs, we need to talk,” Fornell calls out.

“And where the hell is DiNozzo?” Sacks says rudely. “We need to talk to him, too.”

Tony’s head jerks up and he looks to Gibbs questioningly. Gibbs shrugs. He does not know what the FBI wants. Tony stands up, offers Bishop a hand and helps to pull her to her feet.

“Hey, Toby. Slacks. Wassup?” Tony says cheerfully ignoring their dour demeanor. “You’re lucky you caught us cause we’re just about to leave. To go home. And sleep. Cause I don’t know what you guys have been up to at the FBI but I haven’t slept in three days, I kid you not, and I’m about to pass out. And you know, DiNozzos don’t pass out.”

Bishop yawns and stretches, punctuating Tony’s statement.

Director Leon Vance strides down the stairs from his office and joins the group in the bullpen. He looks grumpy. “Let’s move this to a conference room,” he tells everyone.

Gibbs frowns. “My team is exhausted and I just told them to go home for the day.”

Fornell speaks up. “I’m sorry Gibbs, but we need to speak to you,” and he looks at Tony. “And you too, DiNutzo.”

Tony looks surprised. “You guys aren’t going to accuse me of murder yet again, are you?” he asks, half jokingly.

“No, DiNutzo,” Fornell rolls his eyes. “Something else came up. And I know that the rest of your team will all want to be read in. Director Vance, I believe my Director has just had a word with you?”

Vance nods. “He has. So let’s go move this to the conference room, shall we?”

McGee throws his jacket on his desk in frustration. Bishop, McGee and DiNozzo exchange puzzled looks and slowly make their way to the conference room.

“This can’t be good,” Bishop mutters.

“Nope,” McGee agrees.

Tony tries to ignore the churning in his belly, his gut is now screaming. “Nope. This is definitely not going to be good,” he says under his breath.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vance, Fornell, Sacks, McGee and Bishop sit around the table. Tony chooses to stand next to Gibbs, leaning against the sideboard. His stance is casual – feet crossed at the ankles, hands in his pants pocket, suit jacket unbuttoned, shoulders slouched, face carefully bland and expressionless. Gibbs looks like he always looks, his stance belaying his Marine Corp background, his expression inscrutable and slightly angry. Side by side, they look as different as two people can be, but Vance knows that there is a connection between them, something undefinable, that made him think they were more alike than they liked to let be known. DiNozzo is usually the social one, speaking for Gibbs whenever inter-agency cooperation or the need to liaise or work with local LEOs arises. DiNozzo could charm the pants off of anyone he needed to, and if that didn’t work then Gibbs would growl at them and intimidate them into giving them exactly what they needed. Their partnership has worked for nearly a decade and a half, and Vance sees no need to change things. But right now, Vance can tell that they are both downright unhappy and if both DiNozzo and Gibbs are unhappy, it is not going to be a good meeting.

“Why don’t you begin, Fornell,” Vance tells him.

Sacks puts a stack of file folders onto the table. Fornell picks up the top one. “So here’s the deal. We believe that there is a serial killer on the loose here in D.C.”

“That’s FBI jurisdiction,” McGee speaks up. “Or are there victims that we at NCIS don’t know about and _should_ know about?”

“No,” Fornell is quick to reassure. “Don’t get all pissy McGee. None of the victims so far have any connection to the Marine Corps or to the Navy.”

“So why are you reading us in?” Gibbs demands.

“Well…,” Fornell hesitates, trying to choose his words carefully. “The victims all fit a certain profile, and, um…” he trails off, not knowing how Gibbs will react. This is a particularly prickly request.

“We want to borrow _Agent_ DiNozzo and use him as bait,” Sacks announces gleefully, making the word ‘agent’ sound like an insult.

Gibbs pushes away from the cabinet and focuses his icy blue gaze at the unfortunate FBI agent. “You want to say that again?” he says in a dangerous growl, his blue eyes menacing.

Sacks visibly cowers and Fornell stifles the urge to strangle his overly-enthusiastic agent while simultaneously smacking himself in the head at this turn of events. Everybody knows that Gibbs is over protective of his team, especially DiNozzo, and Sacks has managed to say exactly everything to push his buttons.

“Settle down now, Jethro,” Fornell says. “Hear us out. First, take a look at the victims.” He opens the folder in his hand and begins arranging 8x10 color photos, headshots of men in their early forties. There are five photos in all. Gibbs leans over the desk and scrutinizes the photos, allowing everyone at the table to look as well. Then he wordlessly hands them to DiNozzo, one by one.

Tony’s eyes narrow dangerously and he cannot help but sharply draw a breath after he looks at the last photo. All the victims are Caucasian, male and look to be in their early forties. All of the men in the photos are very attractive, have short brownish hair, strong jaws, large eyes (blue, green, brown, hazel, green respectively). These men could have been brothers, they looked alike enough. But worst of all, Tony looks very much like them, especially victim number five with his big green eyes and easy smile.

A muscle works in Tony’s jaw as he throws the photos back onto the table.

“When will I get to be too old to be bait?” he says to no one in particular.

“When you stop being such a fucking pretty boy,” Sacks retorts.

DiNozzo’s eyes are spitting green flames, but his face remains expressionless. “Well, fuck you too, Slacks. You want to take this outside? We’ll see who’s fuckin’ pretty then, huh?” Tony snarls, his voice soft but menacing.

McGee thinks that this is one fight he would like to watch, thinking that Slacks would definitely have to be hospitalized afterwards and Tony would have maybe a split lip at best. Slacks would be maimed and Tony would still be pretty, his tired brain thinks and he stifles a snicker. People tended to underestimate Tony in a fight due to his pretty-boy good looks but Tony was a brawler. He’d had six years of experience at three different police departments prior to coming to NCIS, and he and Gibbs have been sparring for years, not to mention the years of sparring with Ziva and picking up Krav Maga, making him even more dangerous at hand to hand combat.

Fornell smacks Sacks on the shoulder. “Please excuse our bad attitude, but like you, we have been working round the clock trying to work this case,” he says, trying to smooth things over. “Jethro, you can plainly see that the vics are the spitting image of your boy,” he says reasonably. “And with his undercover experience, your boy is the perfect candidate for this op.”

Gibbs glares wordlessly at Fornell, refusing to let himself be appeased by Fornell calling Tony ‘his boy’. Fornell knows which buttons to push. Gibbs begins bristling and draws in a breath to argue. Tony puts the back of his hand to Gibbs’ forearm, in one quick move defusing the tension in Gibbs’ body. He cocks a head at Gibbs and purses his lips, and the two exchange one of their famous non-verbal conversations. Finally Gibbs nods, Tony’s hand moves back into his pants pocket, and Gibbs turns to stare at Fornell and Slacks, letting the silence stretch awkwardly.

Vance clears his throat. “The Director of the FBI has requested our assistance with this case,” he says. “And I guess I can see the reason why, now.”

Tony stalks over to the table and gracefully folds himself into a chair. “OK. Let’s hear the rest of this.” He keeps his eyes on his hands which are clasped together and placed on the table.

Gibbs moves to stand behind DiNozzo’s chair and folds his arms. Bishop thinks that he looks like he is looming over Tony, ready to rip the head off of anybody who comes near them. She catches McGee’s eyes and can see the concern in them.

Fornell begins to tell the group the details. All five men were openly homosexual, successful professionals who frequented some of the more exclusive gay clubs in the city. All five were last seen alive leaving a club with someone. The only description that they have been able to get is that this person is male, Caucasian, between 30 and 45 years old, perhaps about six feet tall, and probably attractive. All five were found dead and dumped into the Potomac a few days later. Autopsies show that the men were drugged to the gills (GHB and Rohypnol), badly beaten, raped, and then stabbed multiple times. Cause of death was determined to be a deep cut which severed the femoral artery, after which the victims bled out swiftly.

The muscle in Tony’s jaw keeps twitching as he keeps gritting his teeth. He is uncharacteristically silent throughout the briefing. He looks carefully at all the photos and documents, and in a truly un-Tony like way, does not make any comments.

When Fornell stops speaking, he raises an expectant eye to Tony. “Well, DiNutzo. What do you say? Will you come and work with us and help us get this son of a bitch?”

There is a prolonged silence. Finally Gibbs puts a hand supportively on Tony’s shoulder.

“What would you want me to do? As bait, I mean,” Tony hasn’t said yes, but he hasn’t said no either which gives Fornell hope. Say what you will about Anthony DiNozzo, but he always steps up to the plate and always does the right thing, regardless of the cost to himself. He’s seen it happen on many occasions. There is a reason that the man has been Gibbs’ right hand man for so long.

“We would want to send you into these clubs wearing a wire, and hope that the killer will target you, given your – uh – physical resemblance to the rest of the victims.”

“So let me get this straight, you want me to go clubbing every night, hoping to get picked up by this serial killer?” he says quietly. “How long do you want me to do this for?”

“The killer is escalating,” Fornell says quietly. “The time between when the first and second victims were killed was a whole month. The third victim was taken two weeks later. The fourth a week after that. And this last victim went last night, five days after the fourth went missing. We found his body this morning.”

“Don’t you have someone at the FBI who fits this profile that you can use as bait?” McGee demands. “You’re the FBI. Surely somebody there can do this instead of Tony! Someone maybe who’s actually, I don’t know… Gay?”

Fornell shakes his head. “Gay or not, nobody fits as perfectly as DiNutzo,” he says gravely, ignoring Sacks’ chuckle at the thought of Tony being gay. “We’ve put a few of our guys out there in the past couple of weeks, but so far no hits.”

“You can’t predict that the guy will go for DiNozzo,” Gibbs objects.

“Did you get a look at the last victim? He could be DiNozzo’s brother,” Sacks retorts. “Hell, they all could!”

“Only if they all want to be the sadder, uglier brothers,” Tony says softly.

Sacks snorts disgustedly. “Oh just get over yourself, DiNozzo. Maybe you’re just not up to this op. I know you just can’t picture yourself in a gay club, but I bet you’re still pretty enough to maybe hook up with a twink or two.” He snickers. “Just wear one of your expensive suits.”

“Aw, Slacks, is this why you’ve hated me all this while?” Tony bats his eyelashes seductively at the FBI agent. “Cause you think I’m pretty but I don’t give you the time of day?”

“You wish, DiNozzo,” Sacks retorts, face flaming.

“Well, you’re the one who thinks I’m ‘ _still_ ’ pretty enough to hook up with a twink or two,” Tony looks at him through his eyelashes. “But maybe my tastes run more to the mature man and not a little twink,” he smirks suggestively.

“Well I for one am looking forward to seeing you trying your smarmy charm on men for the first time and seeing you fall on your face,” Sacks hisses angrily.

“Who says it’ll be my first time charming men?” Tony says, winking at the man. “And who says I’ll fall on my face?” Tony’s voice falls an octave, and practically growls deep in his chest, and Gibbs has to force himself to focus on the conversation instead of his suddenly pounding heart, wanting Tony to speak in that low tone again. Tony definitely won’t fail to charm anyone, man or woman, if he continues in that vein.

Sacks stands, mouth opening and closing soundlessly before he sputters indignantly. He starts berating Tony for his impertinence. McGee and Bishop stare at Tony, and if they’d wondered if Tony could pull off playing for the other team, the fake smoldering look he gives Sacks before rolling his eyes and looking away in disgust dispels some of their doubts.

Gibbs’ menacing growl finally shuts Sacks up but by this time, Tony ignores it all, focused back on the potential op.

“No long term assignments. No undercover boyfriend routine. I can’t do that again,” he says quietly.

“For crying out loud, DiNozzo. Just play a few suckers to try to reel in a killer. Right now, it wouldn’t be long term. And even if it was, what’s a few broken hearts? We have bigger fish to fry. We have to stop this motherfucker!” Sacks sounds angry and frustrated.

“There’s always bigger fish to fry,” Tony sounds bitter, and he glares at Fornell. “Meaningless one night hook ups at a club, I can do,” McGee almost jerks in surprise at the confidence with which Tony claims he can do one night hook ups with men, as if he’s no stranger to it. McGee tries not think about the implications of this sentence but he wonders, has Tony dabbled with the other team? He blushes as he exchanges another glance with Bishop.

“But I’m done playing with innocent people’s emotions,” Tony continues. “I’m done with making people _feel_ things for me, insinuating myself into their lives, when all I’m doing is lying to them. I’m done using people that way.” Although Tony hasn’t raised his voice, his tone brooks no argument and his eyes are serious and determined. “No one else is going to get hurt.”

“That was years ago, DiNozzo,” Fornell says softly.

Tony’s only response is his flat glare. The muscle in his jaw begins twitching again.

Bishop’s eyes flicker around the room. She has not missed that Tony used the word “else”, as in ‘no one else’, as in at some point someone did get their hearts broken. But isn’t that the point of an undercover op, to gain the trust of the target? She realizes that she is the only person who doesn’t know exactly what Tony is talking about. She knows this is not the right time to ask about it, but she doesn’t feel like there would ever be a right time.

Tony’s eyes are hooded and sad. Bishop never wants to ask him what he means as she doesn’t ever want to be the one to make him look that sad.

“I can live with that,” Fornell finally tells him. “If we don’t get this guy soon, it’s going to be a bloodbath anyways. So. Will you do this?”

Tony sighs. “Can I have a minute to think this through?”

Fornell nods. Tony sighs again and wearily rubs his eyes. He wishes he was more clear-headed and less ready to collapse with exhaustion. “Fuck,” he mutters softly.

“DiNozzo, with me,” Gibbs tells him as he starts towards the conference room door. Gratefully, Tony scrambles to his feet and trots after him. When the two men leave the room, Fornell blows out a huge sigh.

“You know what you’re asking him to do, right?” McGee asks him.

“I know,” Fornell says tiredly. “I wish I had another option.”

“He can’t go through another op like Shepard’s La Grenouille,” McGee is speaking again. “You better not screw him over.”

“I know,” Fornell agrees. “This should be quick and short. He doesn’t have to hurt anyone. He doesn’t have to serve himself up like that for this one. And you guys will all know what’s going on at all times. No secrets.”

“He better not have to,” McGee says quietly. “I don’t think he’ll survive another op like that.”

“At least there won’t be a girl involved this time,” Fornell says. “This time, even if he does hurt someone else, hopefully he won’t hurt himself too.”

McGee cannot believe that he is grateful that Tony will be safer facing a serial killer while frequenting a gay club, instead of dating a beautiful intern. At least he hopes Tony will not hurt himself this time, given that perhaps Tony isn’t as straight as he’d thought. Or was he just messing with Slacks? McGee cannot hold back the huge yawn that overcomes him and he rubs his eyes wearily. He should be rubbing his hands with glee, thinking about the fact that Tony has to go to gay clubs or that Tony might have to get intimate with a man. Instead he finds himself saddened by Tony’s first reaction. He doesn’t seem at all concerned about the whole gay thing – McGee pushes away the thoughts he isn’t ready to think of yet – but instead doesn’t want anybody else to get hurt.

He sighs. He hates it when Tony is upset. He finds himself wishing for the earlier, simpler days, when Tony and Kate were constantly bickering and one-upping each other, and head slapping their Probie. Those had been good days.

He ignores Bishop’s questioning looks. He won’t be the one to tell her about how Tony ripped both Jeanne’s and his own heart out over a Director’s personal agenda. He remembers how Tony had been at work, after that whole thing went to hell – like an automaton Tony, knee-jerk caustic comments not quite hiding the devastation and vulnerability in his eyes. And back then, he’d somehow just not considered that Tony might have had actual feelings for anything and he’d been anything but kind to the man. He’d just brushed everything off and had teamed up with Ziva to make Tony’s life as difficult as possible. It had taken him getting together with Delilah for her to point some things out to him before he realized what he had been doing, how he had been treating Tony, and slowly he’d tried to change his ways. It had actually helped when Ziva left – she had really been good at clouding his judgement in many things. And here, a reminder of how hard that op had been for Tony, and that he had suffered alone and received no sympathy from anyone in the aftermath. McGee is ashamed to remember that it hadn’t really even occurred to him to sympathize with Tony at the time. Grimly, he resolves to do as much for Tony as he can until this thing is over.

Meanwhile, Gibbs and Tony head to the elevator. Gibbs stops the elevator as soon as it starts moving and looks at his Senior Field Agent. His pretty boy. Not really a boy anymore, but still pretty and vibrant, still his steadfast and loyal second.

Tony leans against the back wall of the elevator, palms flat against the wall, looking down at his feet. He stays silent and still. This is not how Tony usually is – he is constantly moving and talking. This silence and stillness is completely unnatural. Gibbs realizes that he will have to be the first to speak.

“You don’t have to do this, DiNozzo,” he says gently.

“Don’t I?” Tony looks at him, his eyes are somber. “People are dying. I can help.”

“I know you can help,” Gibbs tells him. “But if this is too hard, and you don’t want to do this, I will back you. You know that right?”

Tony looks down, his eyes are uncertain. He swallows and nods.

“This is above and beyond,” Gibbs continues. “This is not your job.”

“I know,” Tony agrees. “But it sure is my responsibility.”

“You’re not responsible for this serial killer,” Gibbs objects.

“I know,” Tony says again.

“Do you really?” Gibbs says roughly. Tony has a track record of internalizing his issues and punishing himself with guilt and self-loathing.

“I know it. I do,” Tony sighs. He scrubs his face with his hands and runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it up, somehow making him look even more handsome, Gibbs thinks. “But if I don’t do this, I _will_ be responsible for the next guy who is killed. I would have turned my back on that poor guy when I could have helped do something about it. And I don’t know if I can live with that.”

Gibbs is filled with pride at Tony’s words. He places both hands on Tony’s shoulders and waits until Tony meets his gaze. For a moment, Tony’s eyes give him a window into his unmasked emotions – apprehension, worry, and pain – before Tony looks away, biting his lips. When he looks back a second later, there is no trace of the earlier emotions. All Gibbs can see in Tony’s eyes is firm determination. This, this ability to hide everything and show only whatever emotion Tony wants to show is exactly why Tony is known as the premier undercover agent.

“Atta boy,” Gibbs says softly. He chucks Tony under his chin and gives him a nod. Tony nods back, his strength suddenly replenished by Gibbs’ simple touch. He straightens up and pulls himself to his full height, back ramrod straight. He is resolved.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” he says, and Gibbs reactivates the elevator. A moment later, they rejoin the group awaiting them in the conference room.

Tony and Gibbs retake their original positions, standing side by side against the cabinet. Tony nods and says, “I’m in, but only if my team backs me up.”

Fornell is quick to agree. “Of course, that’s why you were all read in.”

“We’ll want you to be out there tonight,” Sacks says.

Tony shakes his head. “Not tonight, dear. I have a headache,” his eyes take on a faraway look. “In all seriousness, I’ll need to prepare. I only get one shot at a first impression, and I don’t want to fuck that up. I need to see all security footage of the victims on the night that they went missing – I want to see how they were dressed, what they were doing, and any footage of their arrivals and departures from the clubs. I also want footage of the victims inside the club. I need in-depth backgrounds on all five – I need to know everything about them. What they liked, what they hated. Because somewhere buried in there is that something that made the killer choose them. I need to know what that something is. I want to know their mental states, if at all possible. Did they have boyfriends or husbands, were they in a committed relationship, were they faithful or unfaithful, were they promiscuous? I need to know everything about them, even if you think these are details that aren’t important – and I mean you, Slacks – I want to know it. We can start hunting for this motherfucker tomorrow night.”

Gibbs snarls ferally. Tony has taken the term bait, rejected it, and turned it into a hunt, and he knows this means that the game is on.

“I want Ducky to review all the autopsies previous 4 vics’ autopsies, and do the fifth vic’s, and I want all evidence that you have to be re-processed by Abby,” Gibbs tells Fornell.

“Of course, Jethro. Agents are delivering everything to them now,” Fornell grins.

“Oh, and Toby,” Tony says, and he smiles his wide, lazy smile, “this ain’t gonna be cheap.”

Slacks starts sputtering, “What the hell do you mean..?”

Tony lines the photos up on the table again, and points a graceful finger at each feature as he speaks. “These guys were successful, fairly wealthy men. Even in these pictures you can tell that they are wearing high end, top of the line, the newest fashion in designer clothes. Not only that, it’s obvious that the clothes have been tailored and not just off the rack. This shirt right here, costs easily $700. Don’t even get me started on this guy’s tie,” Tony raises an eyebrow. “And if they frequented the gay club scene, then I’m gonna need some new clothes. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone anywhere remotely near a club other than to interview witnesses. If I’m going to fit in and look like these guys did, it does not mean last season’s lines. And before you say anything else, Slacks,” Tony raises a long shushing finger to the FBI agent, “maybe this is why your undercover guys haven’t been successful. At the very least, you should have come to me just to get them ready to go in. That reminds me, I’ll need to see what your other undercover guys look like and speak to them to find out what they have done so I have an idea of what’s been done.”

Fornell opens his wallet and throws his company credit card to Tony. “Knock yourself out, DiNutzo,” he says. “My Director has OKed all your expenses. I’ll get the guys in here to speak with you in an hour.”

Tony nods his thanks. He sifts through the folders and pulls out some stills from a few folders, the photos are the last ones taken of the victim, stills from security footage from the club. Then he grimaces. “Also, I’m gonna need some grooming,” he says softly. “Look at this. All of them look like they make a habit of going to the spa before they go clubbing. And all I’ve done in the past month is work like a dog, take catnaps at my desk and eat junk food. Crap, I should have skipped the damned donuts, Boss,” he grins at Gibbs. “And my fingernails are shot to hell,” he looks at his offending digits and resists the urge to gnaw at his cuticles. “Don’t even talk about my hair. Think Sandra Bullock pre-Michael Caine in _Miss Congeniality_ , except you know, handsomer.”

“You sure are something else, DiNozzo,” Sacks says, sneering. “Trust you to notice all these things. Maybe you _will_ fit right in in a gay club.”

Gibbs growls again and Sacks backs down.

“Hey, if the guy wants pretty, we have to give him pretty,” Tony says, not even sparing him a glance. His brain is flying a mile a minute and now that he has decided to do this, he is impatient to get on with the work. “This is what undercover is all about. If I have to step into a role, it’s got to be real. It has to look, feel, taste, smell, sound real. In fact, if you can dig up any voice recordings of the victims, that would be helpful too. I want to hear them speak, even if it’s a voice mail or something random. I just need to see if there were any similarities there that I would need to know about and be able to put into play.”

“Anything else?” Fornell has been furiously scribbling noting down Tony’s requests.

“I’m gonna need a full night’s sleep tonight,” Tony says. “In a real bed. Not at my desk. And with no interruptions.” He is aware that the dark circles under his eyes will not help him sell this cover. He makes a face, silently lamenting growing older. Ten years ago he wouldn’t need to recuperate like this to look his best. “I need to bounce back from this last month. Donuts aside, we’ve all been real short on sleep and rest, and I’m gonna need some beauty sleep so I can be all pretty and sparkly tomorrow night.”

“Of course,” Fornell agrees.

Tony sighs and purses his lips. “I can’t really think of anything else right now but if I do…”

“Let me know and I’ll take care of it,” Fornell tells him. “We need to get this guy, DiNutzo.”

“Yeah we do,” Tony agrees softly, his eyes still on the photos on the table. “I’ll need to be so fucking irresistible that he doesn’t consider going after anyone else. Let’s go get this guy.”

Bishop realizes that Tony has spoken about his looks in a completely clinical and detached manner. There is no trace of the usual vanity and humor, or even at times that endearing embarrassment if he is caught in a compliment off-guard. He is objective in his assessments, as if speaking about somebody else. What kind of person is able to do that to himself? she wonders.


	2. Chapter 2

The afternoon passes in a flurry of activity. Gibbs has sent McGee and Bishop to help with the background work that Tony has asked for. Ducky and Palmer are busily conducting an autopsy on a corpse that bears a disturbingly striking resemblance to their friend Tony, reviewing the previous four autopsies, and Ducky is building his own profile of the killer, while Abby begins the work of re-examining all the evidence in all the cases.

Tony remains in the conference room with a laptop, surrounded by files. He has made a few phone calls and will have to leave for some evening appointments but in the meantime, he diligently reviews all the available security footage, occasionally jotting some notes in his little notebook in his policeman’s scrawl and notation. He also meets the three guys who have been playing bait for the last couple of weeks and they sit and have a long discussion about everything. Tony speaks to them, maintaining a friendly, open, yet serious persona.

McGee manages to hack his way through the victims’ personal computers and finds videos of them for Tony to watch. Tony scrutinizes their behaviors and mannerisms, seeing similarities that he can incorporate into his undercover persona.

Tony is also going through all the files slowly and carefully, reading everything, shading his eyes against everything else going on. He pretends that he is working after midnight and the bullpen is silent, so he can concentrate fully on what he is doing. There is no trace of the overgrown prankster as Tony buckles down and puts his game face on.

Vance cannot help but watch Tony over the security feed from his own office. On a normal day, Tony is both ridiculously annoying as well as annoyingly good at his job. This afternoon, Tony has done a 180 and has dropped everything, staying completely calm, serious and focused. He finds this change fascinating and is reminded of why Gibbs has trusted this man to be his right hand for so long.

Finally, at 1830, Tony lifts his head and glances at his watch. He shuffles some papers and chooses some to put in a few folders to take with him, he leaves everything else in the conference room as is and goes to the bullpen.

“I have to make it to an appointment,” he tells Gibbs. “Don’t ask. But I’ll be spending tons of FBI money.”

Gibbs nods. “McGee, go with him,” he says.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Tony objects.

“I’d prefer you not to be running around alone while this serial killer is out there,” Gibbs tells him.

“I’m not going clubbing tonight,” Tony whines. “He doesn’t even know about me yet.”

“We’re not taking any chances. Either McGee goes with you or I do.” Gibbs holds Tony’s gaze until the younger man turns away, face flushing slightly.

Tony sighs, knowing that he has lost this battle. As much as it would make him happy if Gibbs was the one to escort him – he tries not to think about how much he does want it to be Gibbs escorting him – it would make him much too self-conscious to go through the kind of pampering that he needed to put himself through to present himself the way the other vics had. “Let’s go, McGoo.”

“Then you take Tony home and you stay there with him tonight,” Gibbs tells McGee, ignoring Tony’s frown.

“Yes Boss,” McGee says obediently.

Both Tony and McGee shut down their workstations and tidy their desks before gathering their gear. McGee slips his laptop in his backpack so he can keep on working tonight. Tony has his few file folders to review. Wearily they walk together and McGee insists that they go in his car tonight. Tony is too tired to argue and slides into the passenger seat. He never did get his nap today. He gives McGee the address, buckles in, and proceeds to doze the whole way there.

For the next three hours, Tony is pampered. Massage, facial, manicure, pedicure, waxing (waxing! McGee thinks), sauna, mud bath. Sadly he is so exhausted that he sleeps through most of the massage and facial and when they move his tired body into a warm mud bath, he is lost. McGee takes a few pictures of Tony, fast asleep, submerged up to his chin in a tub full of fragrant warm mud and with mud mask on his face, and gleefully texts them to Abby and Bishop. Tony blissfully sleeps through the flurry of text message notification buzzes and McGee’s chuckles at the comments that are flying. Tony keeps on dozing through the evening, offering only a few words and a few smiles to the army of beauticians working on him.

Once it is over, Tony warmly hugs and exchanges air kisses with his friend, the owner of the spa, who has not only stayed open late to indulge Tony’s whims, but has asked his best people to do it. Tony hands over Fornell’s credit card and ensures that he leaves a whopping tip.

Marco, the owner, asks Tony why McGee isn’t getting the special treatment.

“Maybe tomorrow, Marco,” Tony grins wickedly at McGee. “Thank you again for tonight. Sorry I fell asleep.”

Marco embraces Tony and kisses him soundly on both cheeks. “You are working much too hard and not taking care of yourself, Antonio,” he declares.

“That’s why I let you take care of me, Marco,” Tony smiles. He easily slips into Italian. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, yes?”

“Until tomorrow night.”

“Ciao,” Tony waves and he and McGee head to their car.

“Wanna stop and get a pizza?” McGee asks as he starts the car.

“Nah, I better stick to a salad tonight,” Tony grimaces and wrinkles his nose. “The things I do for vanity.”

McGee snorts with laughter. True to his words, when they get to Tony’s apartment he rummages around in the fridge and puts together a salad and scrounges up some chicken breast to go with it while McGee waits for his pizza to arrive. After Tony has eaten (and refused any of the pizza!), he tells McGee to make himself at home, brings out extra pillows and blankets for the couch, and apologizes for not offering the bed to McGee. He tells McGee that he is going to take some sleep aids to ensure that he gets a good night’s sleep and retires to the bedroom. He is in bed and asleep by 2300.

Although McGee is exhausted, he boots up his laptop, and wanders around Tony’s apartment. He chooses a DVD at random from Tony’s extensive collection and puts it on, turning the volume almost all the way down. He gives Gibbs a quick call to update him, both of them snickering about the fact that Tony ate a salad for dinner, then goes back to work for a couple of hours. When he cannot keep his eyes open anymore, he makes up the couch (thank god Tony’s couch is super comfortable), changes into sweats and a t-shirt, and goes to sleep.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Tony opens his eyes, stretching luxuriously and feeling well rested, sunlight is streaming through his windows. He glances at his clock and scrambles out of bed in a panic. His alarm did not go off and it is almost 0800. He has slept straight through for nine hours. He had meant to be back at the office by 0700. What happened to his alarm? Also, what the hell happened to McGee?

He throws open his bedroom door, convinced that McGee has been kidnapped. He finds the blankets folded neatly and stacked on top of the pillows on the sofa, and follows his nose to where McGee and Gibbs are sitting in his kitchen, drinking coffee and eating bacon, eggs and toast. McGee looks freshly showered and is dressed in fresh clothes. Tony looks down at his worn OSU t-shirt and boxers. His feet are bare and he can only guess what his hair looks like. He feels like he is in the dream where he’s running around the halls of his boarding school naked, only he’s not naked and he’s in his own home. He stands and stares, blinking at his friends.

“Good morning sunshine,” McGee tells him.

“What’s going on?” Tony is confused.

“You needed to sleep in,” Gibbs told him.

“Did you mess with my alarm clock?”

“Yep,” Gibbs says.

“Oh,” Tony calms down.

“Don’t you think Tony looks good this morning?” McGee asks Gibbs. “I think the mud bath did wonders.” He holds his phone out and Gibbs squints at the picture of Tony sleeping in the mud bath, mud on his face and he can’t help but snicker.

Tony glares at them. “You think it’s easy to look the way the vics looked?” he demands. “They had some serious grooming, OK?”

“You always look good and you know it, Tony,” McGee says placatingly. Gibbs stops himself from agreeing vehemently. Although Tony’s skin does seem to be glowing with health this morning. The man is still sexy even with his hair all tousled from sleep and a disgruntled expression on his face.

Tony snorts in response. He grabs a mug and pours himself a cup of coffee and doctors it so it’s sweet and hazelnutty just the way he likes it. He sits down and Gibbs places a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of him. Wordlessly he begins to eat. His mind is racing – if Gibbs is here making him breakfast, then he must be worried. Gibbs never cooks him anything unless something is very wrong, or he is recovering from some dire injury, or he’s worried. In this case, it has to be worry. And if Gibbs is worried, then there must be something more that he Tony, should be worried about and that he needs to figure it out and do something about it. But he cannot think of what it is that he might be missing, so how can he fix it if…

He is pulled out of his reverie by a head slap. He yelps and frowns at Gibbs.

“Stop it,” Gibbs tells him.

“Stop what?”

“It’s just breakfast. Don’t read anything more into it. I know how you get.”

Tony glares suspiciously at Gibbs while gnawing on his toast. He lets out a breath and pouts.

“I’m serious. Get your head on straight. It’s breakfast, and nothing more,” Gibbs frowns at him.

Tony sighs, wishing it was breakfast _and_ more. But he quickly shuts that line of thought down. He knows better than to go down that road by now. “OK, so what did I miss last night?” he asks, turning his thoughts to the case.

Gibbs pulls out his phone, puts it on speaker and calls Bishop to ask for a sit rep. McGee brings his laptop to the kitchen table. Fornell and Sacks are on the line in the bullpen with Bishop. She conferences in Abby and Ducky.

With a minimum of fuss, Tony is fed more information while he finishes his breakfast and drinks a second cup of coffee.

All of the victims were serial monogamists, and all of them had just come off of a serious relationship within the last six to eight months. Two of them had been dumped, two of them were the dumpers, and one of them had parted by mutual agreement. None of the exes reported infidelity during the relationship. All five were looking for commitment, but they also liked to blow off steam and go dancing. There did seem to be random hookups in the months since their breakups, but nothing serious. All of them had been discreet. None of them had close confidantes. They were all financially secure, with diverse investment portfolios, but didn’t have the same financial advisers or accountants or attorneys. Other than their looks and personality traits, it did not seem like they had much else in common. They all shopped at different grocery stores, frequented different hair salons, spas, and restaurants. So far the only connection that they can find between the men are the clubs that they frequent.

Abby discovered that all five remains had traces of solvent on their skin – the bodies were thoroughly cleaned before they were dumped. But nothing else new has come up.

The fifth autopsy did not reveal anything new. Although Ducky did find what appeared to be an injection site, it is slightly obscured by a stab wound. He and Jimmy are requesting the other remains to examine all the stab wounds – the killer might have done the same thing with the other victims. This would be how the massive amounts of drugs were introduced into the victims prior to their being brutalized.

Ducky reports that the killer is definitely escalating. Not only are the attacks getting closer together, but the attacks are getting more brutal as he progresses. The stab wounds get progressively deeper and more vicious, the rapes more violent and brutal from one victim to the next. It will not be long before the killer loses control entirely.

“Is it a hate crime, do you think, Ducky?” Tony asks.

Ducky sighs. “Not in the traditional sense,” Ducky finally answers. “I don’t believe that these poor men are being targeted for being homosexuals, but the killer does hate, and he hates a specific person who looks like these men. He might have been a school friend, or a potential lover who rejected him. Someone he perceives has hurt him and betrayed him so badly that he needs to punish every man who reminds him of this unfortunate patient zero.”

“Maybe I can run a search to find if there have been any killings in the last few years of someone who fits the profile,” McGee starts typing on his laptop.

“Don’t exclude heterosexuals,” Tony tells him. “Maybe the guy wasn’t into him for that reason.”

“Also go back as far as ten to fifteen years. Maybe it’s an old wound that somehow got triggered recently,” Gibbs adds.

“Don’t limit it to just fatalities. Look into rapes or assaults that didn’t result in a fatality,” Tony starts pacing.

“I’ll look to see what’s happened in the time leading up to the first victim. Maybe I can find something that could have been the trigger for all this,” Bishop says.

“Good plan,” Gibbs approves.

“Now, Tony, do you want to hear what your cover is?” Abby says.

“Sure,” Tony mutters. “Hit me with it.”

“McGee, I’m sharing my screen,” Abby tells him. Tony and Gibbs walk to stand behind McGee so they can look over his shoulder.

“Excuse the old photo – I assume I will be able to get a good one this afternoon after Tony is all prettied up,” Abby giggles.

The photo is at least ten years old, taken when Tony had gone undercover as a desperate male prostitute to infiltrate and break up a prostitution ring that was branching out into slavery and human trafficking. His hair is short and spiky, and the tips are frosted bleach blonde. His eyes look huge in his face – black eyeliner rims his eyes. He has a small stud in his left ear. He looks sad, defeated and vulnerable, completely in character. Bishop gasps – he barely looks like the Tony she knows and loves.

Tony laughs. “Oh my god, Abby, I can’t believe you still have that!”

Fornell and Sacks can be heard chuckling as well. “That was a good job you did there back then too, DiNutzo,” Fornell says.

“Buttering me up, are ya?” Tony smirks.

“You sure did throw yourself into that role, DiNozzo,” Sacks throws in a dig.

“Only my friends get to call me a slut to my face and get away with it, Slacks,” Tony says deceptively pleasant.

“Today, people,” Gibbs snaps, and Tony flashes a smile at him. Gibbs is grumpy to be reminded of another joint FBI-NCIS op that although, was successfully completed, Tony had ended up in the hospital for days having been beaten to nearly an inch of his life and then gut-shot.

“So anyway, when we get a current pretty picture of Tony, I’ll replace this. In the meantime, meet Anthony DeAngelis. He is a successful entrepreneur and venture capitalist. He has managed to make his business thrive even in these lean economic times. In his spare time, he runs,” Abby flips to a picture of Tony running in a marathon, “goes rock climbing,” a picture of Tony scaling a climbing wall, “and snowboarding,” next a picture of Tony snowboarding down a hill, grinning like a maniac.

“What is this, a dating profile?” Bishop snickers.

“Seriously, Abs, where did you even get that photo of me snowboarding?” Tony wants to know.

“I have my ways,” Abby tells him smugly. “Don’t knock it, the other victims pursued an active lifestyle, so Tony, these are your interests.”

“Luckily they actually are my interests,” Tony grins. “I should just be glad you didn’t sign me up for polo or fencing, I guess.” McGee snorts with laughter.

“You broke up with your live-in boyfriend of five years six months ago,” Abby continues, and pulls up a photo of Tony and McGee horsing around together. Tony has a huge grin on his face, one arm around Tim’s shoulders and Tim has both his arms around Tony, pressing his body close, and is kissing him fairly tenderly on the cheek. Tim had lost a bet that day, hence the photo. Tony and Gibbs laugh at the picture and McGee elbows Tony in the abdomen. 

Abby says, “After Tim moved out, you were heartbroken, and have been keeping to yourself,” Tony head slaps McGee and mutters, “That’s for breaking my heart you son of a bitch,” and ignoring the interruptions, Abby goes on speaking, “but you’ve now decided to get back on the horse.”

“I’m back, baby,” Tony smiles predatorily. “You can’t keep a DeAngelis down for long.”

Tony showers and dresses for work in record time, and they head in to the office. Tony resumes his seat in the conference room and keeps reading through the information on the victims, shutting out the world as he immerses himself in his next role.

At 1100, Tony leaves to meet with his personal shopper. Since time is of the essence, he is getting professional help to dress himself for the next few nights of dancing and letting down his hair in several high end gay clubs. He spares no expense, including new shoes, socks, underwear and accessories. His shopper also promises that the clothes will be tailored before the end of the day. All compliments of the FBI, of course.

Tony finds himself standing in his boxers, undershirt and socks, being measured by the tailor, chatting on the phone with McGee. Luckily Gibbs has allowed him to do this without an escort, as Tony really doesn’t feel like shopping with an audience. Marco has also managed to get him some time with his favorite stylist who has fun transforming his hair for the role. Tony returns to the office wearing one of his newly purchased shirts so Abby can take a picture of him in character for his new cover.

When he waltzes into the bullpen, he is wearing a dress shirt in a shade of green that his personal shopper gushed about as it supposedly makes his brilliant eyes pop, a brown suede leather jacket, black slacks, and a brand new pair of Balenciaga sunglasses shades his eyes. The top two buttons of his shirt are open and his newly groomed chest hair peeks out sexily. His hair looks both tousled and sun-streaked, casual yet somehow sexy.

“Holy smokes,” Bishop says admiringly.

Tony twirls, preening. “You like?”

“I like!” Bishop says. She fingers his shirt. “That is a great color on you.”

“Eat your heart out, McGoo,” Tony smiles at McGee who also seems to be a little star struck. “That’ll teach you to break mine. I’m heading down to Abby.”

He bows gracefully before stalking away. Bishop watches him walk away, eyes on his ass. “McGee, did Tony just sashay down that hallway?” she asks, amazed.

“Yep,” McGee says, “I believe you are correct. He’s getting into character. He’s studied the other vics body language in the videos we found. They were all sexually confident men.”

“If he’s aiming for sex on legs, I think he’s done it,” Bishop sighs.

McGee head slaps her. “Do _not_ under any circumstances tell him you said that!”

“Can we watch his photo shoot?” Bishop wants to know.

Since Gibbs is not at his desk, McGee and Bishop hurry down to Forensics to catch the action.

Abby shrieks and jumps up and down, excitedly clapping her hands when Tony presents himself to her. “You are one smoking hot dude, Tony!” she exclaims, giving him a quick hug and picking up her camera. “Let’s get the pictures done.”

Abby pulls down the green screen background and Tony arranges himself on the stool in front of it. McGee and Bishop walk in to Abby taking photos of Anthony DeAngelis. Tony only breaks character once when Gibbs walks into the lab. He flashes Gibbs an embarrassed smile and says “Hey, Boss.” Abby flits around happily, asking him to pose and do different expressions as DeAngelis.

Finally Tony puts an end to it. “I don’t think you need this many photos of DeAngelis, Abby,” Tony pouts and Abby clicks crazily, capturing the pout.

“All right, all right, but I did need to upload some more photos to your company website,” Abby plugs the camera into her computer and downloads the photos. She chooses one where Tony is looking at the camera head on, green eyes shining brightly, giving the impression that he is smiling even though Tony’s mouth is set naturally.

Huh, Tony thinks, looking closely at the photo, his personal shopper is right, this green does bring out his eyes. 

Efficiently, Abby creates Tony’s new driver’s license, work IDs, and passport. When the documents are ready, she puts them into a big brown envelope that already contains new credit cards, health insurance cards, a large amount of cash, and other documents will make Anthony DeAngelis real.

Tony thanks Abby with a light kiss, flashes an impish grin at McGee and Bishop and sweeps out of the lab. He heads back to the conference room and resumes his focused research, sunglasses forgotten on top of his head.

Around 1400, he realizes that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast and wanders out of the conference room. He thinks that sushi would hit the spot. He decides to get a workout in the gym before leaving the office later. His mind is completely into the lives of the men who have been killed. He doesn’t even realize that he is walking differently, Anthony DeAngelis has a graceful purposeful walk, with a little more booty sway than Tony usually does. His eyes linger on Agent Doug Hale who bears more than a passing resemblance to Keanu Reeves in _The Matrix_ , and he gives Agent Hale a slow smile that makes Hale blush and stammer. Hale later swears up and down that it never happened, he is happily married to his wife and would never blush at the attention of a man. Even one as magnetically hot as Tony seemed to be that day.

DeAngelis goes to his (DiNozzo’s) desk, gracefully picks up his badge and weapon, and tells Gibbs that he’s getting lunch. Gibbs nods and tells Bishop to go with him. When Tony is in character but not yet positioned, he doesn’t like him to be alone. Regular Tony can get into all kinds of trouble all by himself, and undercover Tony even more so.

Tony waits for Bishop to get her ID and weapon, then tucks her arm through his as they walk away together. Later, Bishop tells McGee that Tony flirted with several very attractive men and exchanged phone numbers with one particularly hot guy in an expensive suit. McGee cannot believe how far Tony is taking this.

After lunch, DeAngelis goes back to conference room to work in peace. McGee strolls in to see how it is going and DeAngelis looks McGee up and down, openly appraising him sexually and gives him a wide, lazy smile. McGee stutters and flees. Did Tony just check him out? He and Bishop run down to Abby’s lab to report on these new developments.

All Abby does is laugh. “You know Tony,” she says. “He will throw himself into any role. Remember when he was chained to Jeffrey White?” she shudders. “God, he was so evil for a couple of days after that. A truly hardened criminal and so mean and surly. I was glad when he finally was able to shake off that persona. Even Gibbs was worried about him that time.”

Before long, McGee discovers that the prior victims all had personal email accounts that they used only for socializing. Instead of giving out their phone numbers at the clubs, the men were giving out their special email addresses. He skims through the contents of a few of them and runs to tell Tony about this. He tries not to be reduced into the stammering Probie that he used to be when Tony turns his eyes on him, but Tony keeps his focus on the emails. Tony ends up spending time with five laptops, reading the private, secret emails that the men sent and received, side by side. He takes advantage of the laptops and side by side, runs all five of the security footage available for the nights the men were abducted.

Bishop asks Gibbs if she can sit with Tony, to learn his methods. Undercover is one of the things she has not yet had to do very much of. Gibbs acquiesces with a nod.

So Bishop sits in the conference room and asks Tony to try to explain what he is looking for and how that affects how he will play DeAngelis.

Tony points some things out to her.

First, the secret email addresses that were only used for the express purposes of hooking up. He has just signed up for a similar account and will not be giving out his phone number, to keep to the pattern.

“Then, there is the content of the emails,” Tony pulls up examples on each of the five laptop. “Look at these ones for example – he’s exchanging emails with the guys he hooked up in the restrooms of the clubs. I’m sure that none of them emailed everybody they hooked up with like this, but it shows that it wasn’t all purely physical.” Bishop speed reads the emails, noting that although the emails were friendly in nature, they were still fairly lustful. She blushes at some of the things mentioned. Tony notices this and laughs softly. “There are other more explicit emails, if you would like to read them?”

“Uh, no, no, I’m good,” Bishop turns even brighter red.

Tony pats her head airily. “Hang in there, Bish,” he says. And Bishop relaxes as she hears Tony instead of DeAngelis that time.

“Also, I read through the emails and it does seem like none of the vics went all the way with their beaus, at least not in the club restrooms,” Tony continues. “But they were quite naughty, which means I might have to be as well. I don’t yet see any common email addresses between the five, but McGee is running some computer thing to compare the senders in all five accounts. He’s also running something to analyze the language patterns used by the senders to our five vics to see if any of them might be the same guy using different email addresses. We might find our killer that way.”

“Um, what do you mean by you might have to be naughty as well?” Bishop asks hesitantly, unsure if she wants to know the answer to her question.

Tony breathes out in an annoyed huff. “Bishop, I can’t believe I have to explain this to you. With the birds and the bees, there are bases involved. Just because one doesn’t hit a home run in the first inning doesn’t mean the bases can be ignored. All of our victims enjoyed receiving blowjobs in the clubs’ restrooms,” he pulls up the emails and points out where this is mentioned. “Also, I’ve been watching the security footage of the men at the clubs,” now all the laptops are playing videos. “Look, they behave pretty similarly. Outside of the clubs, as we heard from people who knew them and their family and exes, these men were confident and aggressive. But look here,” Tony pauses the footage strategically for all five men, “in the club, they try to appear confident, but look at these expressions. They feel vulnerable. They’re scared and lonely, but are good at hiding it. I think that’s what make them appeal to the killer. Which means I’ll have to be like this too.”

Bishop nods. Tony’s logic is sound. She doesn’t quite know how he will pull it off – DeAngelis so far has been fairly sexually aggressive. Almost as if Tony has read her mind, “I’ll have to dial it down at the club,” he says absently. He breathes out and is silent for a minute.

“Anything else?”

“Well Abby is running facial recognition to see if we can see anybody in common who might have approached the guys or bought them drinks or something but it’s hard to say. There’s a lot we can’t see. What I can see is that each of our vics accompanied one person to the restroom the night they went missing,” Tony fast forwards the footage appropriately and shows Bishop what he means. He frowns, the time stamps are vastly different and the five hookups are all different men. “Huh,” he finds himself disappointed again. It would have been nice if this was the connection to the killer, so he would have some idea what the killer would look like. But no.

He continues almost absently. “And they all liked to dance,” he manipulates the footage once again and all night, the victims disappear from the camera at the bar and reappear in various shots of the cameras on the dance floor. They are never dancing alone, they dance with a wide variety of partners. They are all pretty good dancers. His brain starts to grasp something but after trying to get it, the thought eludes him.

“Then let’s move on to how they exit the club,” _and their lives_ , Tony thinks to himself. It might be the same man – same general height and build, but different hair colors (which of course is easy enough to manipulate). The guys walk out for some reason with a man. In each of the recordings, the man never looks at a camera, and so far Abby is trying to look for reflective surfaces to try to identify the man (or men, plural?) who somehow gets these scared, vulnerable, lonely men to leave with him. “See how they’re walking? It’s not the same walk. They’re not graceful, but a little awkward. Not like keeling over drunk walk, but the more than slightly buzzed walk. I think they’ve already received a dose of the drugs,” Tony says quietly. “Not enough to incapacitate, but maybe to make them more malleable. The question is does the killer have one or more accomplices, or does he just pay random different people to get the guys out of the club for him, or is that him doing his own dirty work?”

“Have you seen how they might have been drugged?”

Tony shakes his head. “I’ve scrutinized the recordings. Granted I can’t see everything, but all the men were careful only to drink drinks that the bartender hands to them. I even saw John Lester, the third victim, politely take a drink from a guy but he never actually even tastes it. These guys are cautious. They know club etiquette.” He trails away, and the thought that had escaped him earlier comes back to him. “I wonder if they could have been dosed through the skin?” he asks, speaking more to himself than to Bishop.

Tony is immediately on the phone with Ducky and Abby to ask his question.

“My dear Anthony, you could be right. It is possible to drug someone transdermally,” Ducky says. “I will try to see if I can find traces of this.”

“Could be why their bodies were cleaned so thoroughly too,” Abby muses. “It’s frustrating me that I can’t find traces of anything if their bodies were dumped. We know they were killed and then cleaned, and then dumped into the Potomac. How does he get them to the river after they’re killed without more trace evident being picked up? The river can’t have washed everything away.”

“Well, Abby, I’m sure you’ll figure that out. But in the meantime, now I have to be careful about being drugged just by somebody touching me?” he gripes. “I can’t avoid touching people at a club where I’m supposed to be hooking up and dancing.”

“Maybe it happens on the dance floor,” Abby speculates. “I mean, you’re all pressed together closely, everything is touching. Someone could have easily drugged the victims then and you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

Tony lets out a long, grumpy sigh and purses his lips, lost in thought. Bishop’s eyes are drawn to the deep dimple creasing his right cheek. She wonders if Tony really knows how attractive he is. She mentally headslaps herself. Of course he knows. He’s Tony.

“Well, good to know. Thanks guys,” Tony hangs up the speakerphone and frowning, turns back to his work.


	3. Chapter 3

At 1900, Bishop brings in a salad with seared ahi tuna for DeAngelis’ dinner. He absently munches through it, keeping his eyes on the papers and screens surrounding him.

Before heading out for the night, DeAngelis gets a strenuous workout. He runs hard for a half hour, boxes, lifts weights, and climbs the hardest walls at the NCIS gym. He takes a quick shower and then runs out to pick up his new clothes from the tailor (who is open late especially for him – and the FBI dollars of course), and then to his spa appointment, McGee in tow again. DeAngelis even talks McGee into getting a massage (on the FBI’s tab).

Tonight, DeAngelis groans with pleasure as he is massaged. He gets another facial and another mud bath, followed by a long hot soak in a Jacuzzi as a lovely girl washes him. Then they return to Tony’s apartment and McGee waits anxiously while Tony changes for his night out.

McGee does a double take but says nothing when DeAngelis comes out of Tony’s bedroom. DeAngelis is wearing what can only be described as fuck me jeans. The dark material is worn, hanging lower on his hips than Tony’s regular clothes, the material hugging Tony’s ass and legs like a second skin. A deceptively simple black short-sleeved t-shirt is tucked into the jeans, that is made of some funky almost but not quite shiny material that is skin tight and draws attention to his broad shoulders and slim hips and almost starkly defines every muscle underneath the material. His hair has been styled to look like he has just jumped out of bed after some really hot sex (don’t even ask McGee how Tony did that to his hair). DeAngelis shrugs into a black leather jacket, the material is soft and also fits him perfectly. He zips the jacket up – it has a wool-lined collar and the zipper goes up in a slight diagonal. DeAngelis slips his DeAngelis wallet into his back pocket, and after a slight internal debate, he decides not to holster his main service weapon. He will bring it with him to work and leave it locked in his desk. But he drops to one knee to fasten his ankle holster. The low cut boots that he is wearing conceals it. Plus the jeans have a slight flare (boot cut, supposedly to accommodate his boots but also for his backup piece).

McGee wonders just how much this ensemble cost the FBI. Probably two months’ pay, he thinks.

Tony also fastens a small knife to his other ankle. McGee doesn’t doubt that there is knife hidden in the expensive new belt buckle as well. Rule #9 is strictly observed by the team.

Tony finally takes his NCIS credentials and main service weapon and slips them into his jacket pocket. He will lock his gun in his desk drawer and hand his NCIS ID to Gibbs before he goes into the club tonight. With very few exceptions, this is what they always do when he goes undercover. He hands Gibbs his creds, as if Gibbs will guard his identity, his self, his id, and when the op is over and Gibbs hands him his creds back, Tony can return and resume his own life.

McGee drives Tony back to the Navy Yard. He starts when he realizes that Tony is actually sparkling a little under the street lamps. “Tony, are you wearing glitter?” he asks.

DeAngelis gives him a grin but says nothing during the whole drive. Unlike Tony, DeAngelis does not fill the silence with chatter about movies and random trivia.

The entire team and the FBI are awaiting his arrival. He unzips his jacket, casually drapes it over a chair and stands to let Abby look him over. She takes a few pictures for her own records, and although she wants to dance around and tell him how beautiful he looks, she knows that he is now DeAngelis and not her friend Tony, so she maintains her distance. DeAngelis seems to exude confidence, but he does not have Tony’s brash and outgoing personality.

Abby places an earwig in his ear and fastens an understated Rolex on his wrist. The watch is both the listening device and the GPS tracker. She also slips a tiny tracking device into DeAngelis’ jeans pocket, one under the collar of his jacket, and one into the heel of his boot.

“This one is water proof, I promise,” she smiles at him, remembering the time when they lost his signal because Jeffrey White pushed him into the creek. “I wish you would let me put a tracker under your skin,” she repeats.

DeAngelis smiles and shakes his head. “You know the drill, Abby,” he tells her. He presses a soft kiss to her cheek, as she hugs him tightly. Gently, he brushes some of the body glitter off of her face. “I’ll see you later.”

“Be careful,” Abby tells him.

McGee has hacked into the club’s security video feed. Tonight, Gibbs, McGee and Fornell will be monitoring both the audio feed and the video feed from the command vehicle. All of Fornell’s undercover agents will also be in play inside the club, and a few others, including Sacks, have been strategically placed outside. 

Tony puts his jacket on, zips it up, and hands his NCIS credentials to Gibbs, who silently takes it. In a move that surprises Bishop, Gibbs gives Tony a quick tight hug and a pat on the back of his head – an affectionate move, she thinks. Not that Gibbs isn’t affectionate, but he rarely is with Tony, preferring to keep him in line with head slaps rather than hugs.

“Ready?” he asks the younger man.

Tony nods and smiles. “I was born ready,” he breathes softly.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

McGee, Gibbs, and Fornell sit in the truck parked discreetly a block away from the club, watching the screens. Bishop has remained at the Navy Yard to keep analyzing to see if she can find the triggering event. She has brought her papers, her laptop, and some snacks down to Forensics so she can sit with Abby and keep an eye and ear on the action. The men watch as DeAngelis valets his sweet, sweet ride (a classic Jaguar, baby, thanks to the FBI impound) and walks to the entrance of M, the hottest gay club in D.C. He bypasses the long line, walking right up to the bouncer. He leans close, whispers something in the bouncer’s ear and gracefully presses a folded bill into the large man’s hands. Then he smiles.

The bouncer cannot resist his charms and wordlessly allows him to enter. DeAngelis flashes the waiting crowd an apologetic grin before going right in, and many a heart flutters in response to both the grin and the walk.

“I can’t believe he got away with that,” Sacks mutters grumpily over the comm-link. He is stationed in a dark alley across the way from the club. “The others had to stand in line or came early to avoid it.”

“He can really work that smile,” Fornell says disbelievingly.

“He says it’s how he got this job,” McGee smirks. “I kind of believe him now.”

Gibbs delivers a head slap to McGee, receiving the expected muted “Sorry, Boss.”

DeAngelis walks into the club. It is dark with pulsating lights, and the music is loud and almost wild. The dance floor is filled and the bar is crowded. There are stairs leading up to a balcony that goes all around the large hall. DeAngelis knows that there are private rooms up there. He unzips his jacket but hesitates to check it, due to the threat of transdermal drugs, but Gibbs voice speaks quietly in his ear. “Songbird, leave your jacket at the coat check. Fornell is gonna spontaneously combust if you lose that expensive as hell thing tonight.”

DeAngelis smirks, rubbing his jaw with his hand, muttering a soft, “Roger,” into his mic. He drops his jacket at the coat check. He squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and walks that sexy, graceful, swaying DeAngelis walk up to the bar. 

Abby and Bishop watch as in the club lighting, DeAngelis’ t-shirt becomes almost see-through when the light pulses blue. “Holy mother…” Abby mutters. “Just look at him. I don’t know how he hides all that when he comes to work every day. ”

“He really is a sex machine,” Bishop refers to Tony’s fraternity brother’s nickname for him. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Abby grins at her. “What happens in Labby stays in Labby tonight, OK?” she says conspiratorially.

“Works for me.”

DeAngelis slides through the crowd expertly and ends up at the bar. He does not have to wait long before an attractive twenty-something bartender wearing a mesh shirt and black jeans comes over. He is young and beautiful, like all the bartenders are at M.

DeAngelis orders a complicated cocktail and surveys the club. He is also surreptitiously keeping an eye on the bartender, on his guard. He accepts his drink and pushes some bills at the bartender who places his hand lingeringly over DeAngelis’s before taking the cash. Holding his drink, DeAngelis leans his back against the bar (there are no stools here) and casually scans the crowd.

He does not have to wait long before a handsome Latino man in his thirties comes over and asks him to dance.

“He doesn’t fit the profile,” McGee says to Gibbs.

“The vics danced with a bunch of guys, and didn’t limit themselves to guys who fit the profile,” Gibbs replies, keeping his eyes on the security feed.

Bishop’s jaw drops when DeAngelis’s confident façade falls a little as he smiles at the Latino man. She can see the sadness and vulnerability in his eyes, and hope and perhaps some gratitude as well, as DeAngelis puts down his drink and almost shyly places a hand into the waiting man’s outstretched one.

“He said he had to dial it down,” she tells Abby, “to match the victims. And look at that. How did he even _do_ that?”

Abby shrugs. “This is the first time you’re seeing Undercover Tony for real, right?”

“He’s like this every time?”

“Yeah. We don’t usually get to see him in action for the long-term ops but for these ones, yeah he can really slip into these roles.” Abby doesn’t mention that this is because Tony has been undercover since he was a child, out of necessity to protect himself from abuse and neglect.

They switch to a different camera. DeAngelis is doing a good job of keeping himself on camera as much as possible. They watch as DeAngelis and his partner dance together. Bishop cannot believe what an amazing dancer DeAngelis is.

“Abby, Tony can really dance,” she says admiration mixed with disbelief.

Abby smirks. “Yes, yes he can,” she agrees. “We used to go clubbing together all the time and he’s just incredible. And if you go clubbing with him, Tony’s like a combination of the best wingman ever and the scary big brother, too. He kept the creeps away and helped me get the cool guys.”

Bishop looks surprised. “Tony? But I thought I’d seen him dance. He danced like a white boy. Not like… this,” she gestures at the screen. “Plus McGee says he’s the worst wingman ever.”

Abby laughs. “Well, admittedly Tony doesn’t treat McGee as well as he could,” she smiles. “And he was probably just messing with you with the dancing.”

Bishop watches the screen in silence for a moment. “For a guy who likes to talk about himself as much as he does, he doesn’t actually tell you anything, does he? Masks behind masks behind masks.”

Abby nods approvingly at Bishop’s insight. “Yep that’s Tony for you.”

The object of their discussion continues to dance on, moving his lean body lithely to the beat, his movements smooth and graceful. He is matching his partner’s moves, mixing latino dance steps in as he rocks to the fast beat. His partner is impressed and pulls him close.

“O ye, guapo,” the man yells into his ear. “You can really dance for a gringo!” Bishop isn’t sure but she thinks that the man gently nips DeAngelis’s earlobe and thoroughly runs his hands up and down his chest as they dance.

DeAngelis laughs and spins, eyes closed. He presses his hands and his body against the body of his partner as well as others on the dance floor who are sucked into his orbit, dancing with seeming abandon. He dances through a few songs, and (like the previous victims) decides to retire to the bar for a drink. He exchanges quick, hard kisses (on the mouth! Bishop watches in shock) with his original dance partner and a couple of other guys, slips his email address into the Latino’s hand, and laughingly dances his way off the dance floor, and jigs his way back to the bar.

He is intercepted even before he gets there. An attractive man fitting their killer’s profile has come after him from the dance floor. He has a hand on DeAngelis’s wrist and is asking him to go back to the dance floor. Gibbs forces himself not to react to Tony being touched on his bare skin – he is hyper vigilant about Tony being drugged through the skin.

‘One dance,’ Abby lip reads, saying it out loud for Bishop. The music is too loud and drowns out the audio. “Please.”

DeAngelis laughs, and looks sheepishly flattered. He leans closer to the man, putting his hand (with the watch/mic) on the man’s shoulder. “One dance, then you buy me a drink?” he says into the waiting man’s ear.

The man nods and pulls DeAngelis back to the dance floor. Bishop cannot believe how they are dancing together. Their hands are all over each other, and the dance partner pulls DeAngelis’s hips right up against him and begins grinding into him.

“Wow, is it just me or is he attracting all the aggressive dudes?” Bishop asks Abby.

“I dunno but it sure seems like they’re all pretty handsies and everything else-ies in there,” Abby points to the other dancers, most of whom were unabashedly all over each other on the dance floor.

Finally DeAngelis makes it back to the bar and his new friend (Jeremy) is buying him the drink, as promised.

“Do you come here a lot, Anthony?” Jeremy asks him.

DeAngelis accepts his drink from the bartender, and grins at Jeremy. “No, but I might be doing it more now,” he confides.

Jeremy nods knowingly. “Bad breakup?”

DeAngelis shrugs. “Let’s not talk about it,” he says, sounding both brave and vulnerable. “I’m here to dance and have fun.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jeremy smiles. Then he pulls DeAngelis close, presses his lips to his, and begins kissing him thoroughly, one hand in his soft hair and the other running up and down his back. After a slight moment of surprise and hesitation, DeAngelis melts into the kiss, opens his mouth to Jeremy’s questing tongue and kisses him back, even moaning into Jeremy’s mouth when he feels Jeremy’s erection against him.

Bishop’s eyes are glued to the screen. “Oh my…” she whispers softly.

Meanwhile, in the truck, McGee’s face is beet red and he resolutely keeps his eyes on the screen and does not look at either Gibbs or Fornell. Tony looks like he’s enjoying himself! What the…?

Finally the two break apart, chests heaving. “I don’t know how he let you go,” Jeremy tells him. “You’re so hot.”

“Maybe I’m more trouble than I’m worth,” DeAngelis tells him.

Gibbs snorts quietly, which makes Fornell laugh.

Jeremy looks him up and down admiringly. “I bet you’re worth it.”

Another snort, this time an unkind one from Sacks, who doesn’t have a visual as to what is happening in the club but is listening on the comms.

DeAngelis blushes prettily and averts his face, embarrassed with the attention from Jeremy, completely ignoring the commentary in his ear. He turns down another dance but slips Jeremy his email address before wandering away. The night progresses with more drinks (which DeAngelis barely even sips), many dances, more kissing and groping, and DeAngelis distributes his email address fairly liberally. He refuses to accompany anyone to a private room, preferring to drink and dance out in the open. As it gets later, DeAngelis feels like he is being watched. He ignores the eerie feeling and tries to enjoy his night out. Finally DeAngelis rewards one of his admirers with a trip to the restroom, locking themselves into a conveniently large and clean stall (all the men’s room stalls at M are large and clean).

Abby and Bishop are both sitting in the lab, red-faced and dumbstruck. Abby’s hands are pressed to her mouth and Bishop doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands. There are no cameras in the restroom of course, but they can clearly hear on the wire the sounds of passionate kissing, moaning, panting, clothes being hastily undone, flesh being sucked and released, and softly muttered obscenities. “Oh…my…god…” Abby says. “How fuckin’ hot is that?”

“I’m so not sure how I’m going to face him tomorrow,” Bishop tells her.

Abby laughs uncertainly. “Man, when Tony and Ziva were undercover as married assassins, they had so much fake sex that I thought I’d heard everything. But this…”

DeAngelis and a very attractive lawyer in his late thirties are kissing deeply, exploring each other’s mouths with their tongues. DeAngelis has worked his hands under the lawyer’s pants, caressing his ass, and his breath hitches and he moans when the lawyer undoes his zipper and pulls out his erection. He tries to be silent but cannot help but gasp with pleasure when the lawyer drops to his knees and licks the pre-cum off the head of his cock before sucking him into his mouth, the head of his cock brushing the back of the man’s throat. He clutches the man’s shoulders, and his breath comes in ragged pants, and after succumbing to the man’s very talented mouth and hands for some indeterminate amount of time, he cannot stop himself. He bites his lips and tries unsuccessfully to stifle his groan of release when he explodes down the man’s throat.

In the Forensics Lab, Abby and Bishop exchange a titillated but guilty look. “Was that..?” Bishop mouths.

Abby nods. “That was Tony,” she responds. “That was so hot…”

In the truck, McGee turns so red that Gibbs is sure his head is about to explode when they hear the sounds in the restroom. When Tony begins breathing hard, and little mewling moans escape him, it is all Gibbs can do not to go in there, yank the stranger off of him, and sink to his knees to finish him off himself. He growls, cutting off the beginning of a rude comment from Sacks, refusing to let the odious man jeopardize their op by distracting Tony. If the man were closer, he would have gladly pummeled Sacks in order to block the gorgeous sounds Tony makes. But instead, he sits in the truck, and turns a deaf ear to the quiet groan when the stranger successfully sucks Tony off. Gibbs glares at nothing in particular, tamping down the jealousy, the anger at Fornell for putting his Tony in this situation, and at Tony himself for playing this part oh so fucking well. His brain keeps replaying the arousing sound of Tony coming, made all that much more scintillating by the fact that Tony had obviously been trying to stifle his sounds of pleasure.

If it had been Gibbs’ mouth on Tony’s dick, the man would not have been able to try to be quiet about it, Gibbs thinks to himself, his cock twitching in his pants, before mentally giving himself a slap in the back of the head. No thinking about Tony in this way. Not even when Tony was obviously engaging in behavior that Gibbs himself would like to participate in. With Tony himself.

McGee’s embarrassed cough attracts his attention. He turns his glare on the junior agent whose face is still tomato red. McGee turns away, trying to hide his reaction from Gibbs.

Meanwhile, in the club, Tony does not reciprocate by giving head, but instead he slowly licks his hand, wraps his saliva wet fingers around the lawyer’s cock, and jerks him off, lips locked with his. Tony strokes his cock, spreading the pre-come for added lubrication, squeezing the broad cockhead, thumbing the slit, and the man thrusts into Tony’s hand until he clutches Tony helplessly and comes. The lawyer’s orgasm is loud and unhindered by the knowledge that there are people listening in. Tony puts his index finger into his mouth and sucks the lawyer’s cum off of it, which makes him groan and pull Tony close, kissing him deeply.

“You are so fucking _hot_ , Anthony,” he whispers.

Tony laughs a little self-consciously but doesn’t say anything.

Finally sated, they kiss lazily as they dress themselves. The lawyer writes his name and phone number directly onto DeAngelis’s hand and accepts the card with DeAngelis’s email address with a satisfied smile.

DeAngelis resumes dancing again, not committing to any single partner. He has danced with Jeremy a few times, but he also has repeat dances with several others. Finally, it is very late and almost closing time. DeAngelis still feels eyes on him.

“Call it a night, Songbird,” Gibbs tells him. “He isn’t playing tonight.”

DeAngelis slips away from his final dance partner, retrieves his jacket and goes to wait for the valet to bring his car. Although the killer has not taken the bait tonight, Tony is sure he has caught the man’s attention. He can feel it. He knows that that creep’s eyes (and perhaps even his hands) have been on him tonight. And this feeling brings a gut-wrenching dread, or as Abby would say, Tony has the heeby-jeebies.

DeAngelis gets in his car and, carefully watching for a tail, drives a circuitous route back to the Navy Yard for a debriefing. The other FBI undercover agents will be reporting with him. Afterwards, Gibbs dismisses everyone and tells them to come back at 0900 to compensate for the late night.


	4. Chapter 4

When Bishop and McGee walk into the bullpen at 0900 the next morning, they find Tony sleeping at his desk. He is practically horizontal in his chair, occasionally emitting muffled snores. His head is pillowed on some files on the tabletop behind his desk, turned slightly to one side – he might even be drooling a little. His feet are propped on the desk, one foot on top of another. He is still dressed in his clubbing clothes, his leather jacket zipped all the way up and his arms wrapped around an open file folder on his chest. McGee can still see traces of glitter on his face.

Gibbs is sitting at his desk and glares sharply when McGee approaches Tony’s desk.

“Let him sleep,” Gibbs tells him in a low voice. “He’s only slept maybe an hour so far.”

McGee nods and he and Bishop quietly go to their desks. Bishop keeps staring over at her sleeping teammate, wondering if it will be awkward when he wakes up given what they saw and heard him do undercover last night. Or if perhaps he will wake up as DeAngelis – would that be even more awkward for her, she wonders. McGee seems to be concentrating fiercely on his computer screen and not looking at anyone. Finally at 1000 hours, Tony stirs and almost falls out of his chair when he tries to turn onto his side. McGee can’t help but laugh when Tony jumps to his feet and looks around, confused, his hair sticking out at odd angles.

“Good morning, Tony,” McGee tells him.

Tony responds with a grunt. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on his cube wall. Wearily, he reaches into a cabinet, pulls out his toothbrush and mug, pours water from a water bottle into the mug, squeezes a large amount of toothpaste onto the toothbrush and begins brushing his teeth, rubbing his eyes sleepily. This move is one that McGee has seen many times during their years of working together, pure Tony DiNozzo morning-after routine. Tony pulls some clothes out of the cabinet, inclines his head to the showers, receives the nod from Gibbs and stumbles away. There seems to be no trace of Anthony DeAngelis in his weary gait, despite the fact that he is still wearing DeAngelis’s clothes. Gibbs sends Bishop on a coffee run.

“Did you sleep at all, Boss?” McGee asks him.

Gibbs nods. “More than DiNozzo did.”

Fifteen minutes later, Tony returns. He’s dressed in his own clothes – a white dress shirt, collar open with no tie and dark gray dress pants, but has put DeAngelis’s boots back on. His hair looks like it was toweled dry but he has not made any attempts to style it, and his unkempt hair somehow makes him look younger. He looks tired and accepts the coffee cup Bishop hands him gratefully. He sits at his desk and goes through his work email. Thankfully, nobody speaks to him until he finishes his coffee and feels more human.

He tosses his coffee cup, a long throw, straight into McGee’s trash bin and gives him a Cheshire cat grin.

“Probie, you wanna help me with something this morning?” Tony sounds disturbingly just like Tony, and completely unaffected by his undercover assignment from the previous night that McGee does a double take.

He is forcibly reminded of just how good Tony is at masking himself and as always, he has to suppress a shudder. It’s very disturbing if one thinks of it, to work so closely with someone who can be whoever he wants to so convincingly, so McGee tries very hard not to think about it, choosing to believe that the Tony that he knows and loves is real and is really his friend.

“What d’you need, Tony?” McGee says, affecting his usual slightly put upon tone so as to keep things normal. _I am not thinking about Tony making out with guys in clubs or getting blowjobs or jerking guys off in club restrooms. I am not thinking about Tony making out with guys in clubs or getting blowjobs or jerking guys off in club restrooms_ , he keeps telling himself, repeating it like a mantra.

“Fornell’s undercovers inside the club all had cameras on them. Can you compile it all into files and put it on the laptops in the conference room? I’d like to be able to go through them kind of side by side again. That really helped yesterday,” Tony makes a face. “I’d do it myself but you know it would take me a while and you’d get this done way faster than I could.”

“Sure thing, Tony,” McGee tells him.

“McGee, Bishop,” Gibbs breaks in. “Anything new on the other analyses you were doing?”

Bishop, McGee and Tony all stand and walk to the plasma. Bishop keeps staring at Tony, unsure how to act around him.

McGee begins. “Email address-wise, I found no common ones between the five vics. The linguistics analysis narrowed these emails down as highly possible that they might have been written by the same person.” McGee pulls five different emails on screen, with similar wordings highlighted. “They come from five different email accounts and each of our vics exchanged multiple emails with these recipients in a short span of time. I’ll trace their IP addresses and see if they really are one person.”

“Can you run the linguistics thingy on my new email address and see if anything jumps out at you?” Tony says.

“Seems kinda early.”

Tony shrugs. “I know, but I have a feeling tonight’s the night. He’s escalating.”

“I’ll keep running my program throughout the day in case new emails come in.”

“Thanks,” Tony purses his lips together. “I really felt like I was being watched last night…” he says softly.

“You were. We were all watching you,” Bishop tells him. She hopes she doesn’t sound judgmental.

“No, not you guys. I felt it, like someone was really watching me,” Tony shudders, “can’t explain it. It was creepy. But I think DeAngelis made an impression.”

“Do you think you were followed when you left the club last night?” Bishop asks him.

Tony rolls his eyes at her. “No, ProBish. Of course not. I was very careful,” he huffs. “But by all means, you can go through traffic cams and make sure that nobody followed me back here.”

“Is that why you wanted to sleep here last night?” Gibbs asks him sharply.

Tony shrugs. “It didn’t seem like it was worth it to drive home for a two hour nap,” he prevaricates. But his eyes tell Gibbs the truth – he had been nervous. Gibbs nods almost imperceptibly.

“McGee, you stick with DiNozzo today,” he orders.

“Yes, Boss,” came the dutiful response. Tony makes a face at Gibbs but does not object. In truth, he feels a little better having company.

“The search for victims of rape, assault, and murder that match the victims in the last fifteen years has also come up with some interesting results,” McGee continues his sitrep. “Twelve years ago, this man was raped and assaulted but not murdered. I believe this is the first victim,” McGee pulls up a photograph. The man looks like he could be Tony’s brother. “I have a pattern, every two years around this time of year, a man who could pass for Tony’s brother is found somewhere in the greater DC area, raped, beaten up and left for dead. The stabbings began four years ago but again, up until this year, there were no fatalities.”

McGee pulls the photos of the 6 new victims up on the plasma and Tony frowns. They all look eerily like him. “Can you believe how many people could pass for my brother?”

“What is also consistent is that all the victims were in their early forties when they were attacked,” McGee says. “So it’s only a coincident now that Tony you fit the profile. Twelve years ago you would have been too young.”

“Great,” Tony mutters, “the joys of aging. So now I can stop worrying about wrinkles, gray hair, weight gain, losing my eyesight, heart disease and osteoarthritis, but instead I got a serial killer to worry about. Just peachy.”

“Bishop, whaddaya got?” Gibbs turns to the blond woman.

She takes the clicker and pulls a few newspaper excerpts up. “Something very interesting. Eric Seydel – our first vic, according to McGee’s research – who was only fifty-seven years old, died two months ago. Which is interestingly, not long before the first victim to be murdered was taken. They did do an autopsy on Seydel and found that he had a hidden congenital heart defect that resulted in him suffering from a massive coronary while he was out running.”

“The trigger…” Tony breathes.

“Very likely,” Bishop agrees. “Seydel was not openly gay, but he was single, and lived alone.”

“Not every single man is a closeted gay man,” Tony shrugs.

“Yeah, Tony. Look at you,” McGee quips.

“You calling me a closeted gay man, Probie?”

“Gonna say you were pretty out of the closet last night,” Bishop observes gently.

Tony rolls his eyes. “I’ll have you know that I’ve kissed a guy or two over the years.”

McGee snorts. “I don’t know, _Sex Machine_. There was more than a little enthusiasm on your part last night. Maybe you’ll be done with the ladies after this op once you give the other side a go.”

Tony grins, not taking offense. “Have no fear. I’ll still like women too, McCloseMinded.”

“Enough,” Gibbs growls, interrupting their bickering. “Look into Seydel. Look back twenty years. He’s the key to all this,” Gibbs glares at the screen.

McGee and Bishop nod, murmuring their assents. McGee throws a questioning look at Tony, suddenly realizing that he’d been ribbing Tony about being gay and Tony had gone out and done things the previous night. Things with men. Things that put the kinds of noises that he definitely did not need to hear coming from his long-time friend in his brain. Oh don’t think of Tony coming, McGee cringes at the poor choice of words in his thoughts. He gives Tony another look, but a glare from Gibbs makes him turn his eyes down. How does Gibbs do that? he wonders.

Tony stretches his body and yawns. “I’m starving,” he complains. “I haven’t eaten anything since dinner, and DeAngelis eats like a bird. I want breakfast. A real breakfast.”

“You want an egg-white omelet or something?” Bishop offers. DeAngelis has been quite the healthy eater.

“No, I want a breakfast burrito,” Tony grumbles. “With sausage and onion and bacon and ham and cheese and everything. Hunting is hungry work. Boss, I’ll be back in fifteen.”

“DiNozzo, you stay. McGee, get DiNozzo set up in the conference room again. Bishop, you get breakfast.”

The team hustles to obey Gibbs’ barked orders.

In the conference room without Gibbs to stop him from doing it, McGee keeps staring at Tony. Finally Tony glares at him. “What?” he says impatiently.

McGee starts stammering.

“Chrissakes, Probie. I thought we’re over this annoying phase,” Tony is curt.

“Well…I’m just a little confused about how you were last night.”

“It’s the twenty-first century. Nobody cares about sexuality anymore. I bet you experimented in college,” Tony looks him up and down. “Well, maybe not _you_ , McPrude.”

“No, it’s not that. I don’t care if you kiss girls or guys, but I mean, it upset you to kiss Amanda Voss,” McGee refers to the transgender from back when Kate was alive. “I thought you only liked women. It didn’t upset you to kiss anyone last night. And there were a lot of…kisses…”

Tony frowns for a second. “OK I get what you’re saying,” he nods. “What you and Kate didn’t understand about the whole kissing Voss situation is that it isn’t that I cared that I kissed someone who has the same equipment that I do. It wouldn’t have been anywhere close to being my first time kissing a man, McGee. What I couldn’t take was that I kissed Pacci’s killer. I mean, I really kissed the guy and he/she gutted and disemboweled Pacci in an elevator. You don’t think that’s upsetting? I found it _really_ upsetting. I liked Pacci. He was nice to me when I started at NCIS and helped me out a few times back when Gibbs and I were a two-man team.”

“When you put it like that…” McGee concedes.

Tony shudders and swallows with difficulty, trying not to think about how much he had to throw up after kissing the person who killed Pacci. “And thanks for bringing that lovely memory back to the forefront, Probie. I seriously hope I haven’t upped the ante moving from kissing a murderer to kissing a serial killer in public,” he sighs and rubs his eyes. “With my damned luck, of course I have. Or I will do it tonight. Shit, I really hate this case,” he mutters. “And for the record, I _love_ women,” he says it in a way that makes it sound lustfully obscene. “But I’ve always had an eye on beautiful men too. Always have.”

“Does Gibbs know about this?”

Tony shrugs easily. “When does Gibbs not know stuff about us, Probie,” he grins.

“Sorry Tony,” McGee is contrite, “I’m sorry that you kissed someone who killed such a nice guy.”

Tony waves it away, not wanting to dwell on it. “Where’s my friggin’ burrito?” he complains, changing the subject. McGee can hear his stomach rumbling. As if on cue, Bishop arrives bearing food. Tony breaks into a happy smile. He unwraps it, pulls out his knife, flicks it open with a metallic snick, halves the burrito, and takes a huge bite. Bishop will never get used to how the urbane Tony can be so casually primal with a knife, but she knows that every member of Gibbs’ team obeys Rule #9 very strictly. She carries a knife too, but she’s less cavalier about pulling it out in public unnecessarily. For one thing, Jake, her husband, finds it disturbing.

“This is awesome,” he speaks with his mouth full. “Thanks, Bishop.”

“I had to beg them to make the breakfast burrito,” Bishop tells him. “Cause it’s after 1100 and they apparently stop making them at 1100.”

“Did you tell them it’s for me? They’ll make it for me any time of day,” Tony is happily and busily eating, trying not to get melted cheese on his shirt.

“Huh, I’ll do that next time,” she promises. “I got regular burritos for lunch for everyone else too.” She throws one to McGee and pulls one out for herself. McGee pulls his own knife out and duplicates Tony’s move to cut the burrito in half. Bishop thinks that it is even stranger to see the cute, geeky McGee casually flicking out his switchblade in public.

Tony offers Bishop his knife “You can use mine,” he tells her magnanimously.

“Tony just wants you to wash his knife later,” McGee comments.

“But of course, McGoo,” Tony grins his shit-eating grin.

While they eat, Tony flicks through his new email and reads the emails that he has already received and noisily sucks on his soda. Occasionally he stops and types some replies, smiling fondly as he does it. It is Bishop’s turn to keep staring at him.

Tiredly, Tony puts his soda down and looks at Bishop.

“What, not you too?” he pouts. “Seriously? What? I got something on my face? What?”

Bishop figures now is not the time to bring up kissing or dancing or Tony’s restroom encounters – god, now she will always have those (lovely, lovely) noises in her head every time she tries to speak to Tony in the men’s room. Is that a hint for her to stop cornering people in the men’s room for serious conversations? But in her defense, she only fell into the pattern already established by McGee. So she goes with her other question. “So yesterday, for the whole day, you were DeAngelis. Even here, even at work.”

“And? I was going undercover.”

“No I get that. But today you’re back to Tony. You’re still going undercover tonight. How come yesterday you didn’t switch back at work, but today you did?”

“Yesterday I was establishing DeAngelis,” Tony patiently explains around a large mouthful of food. “I didn’t know how he would be so I had to try him out. I think I’m pretty secure in who he is now, especially after last night, so I don’t have to be him again until I need to be.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“I’m not all method like DeNiro,” Tony tells her. “It’s important to be able to switch identities quickly. But in order to do that successfully, you have to really know it and be it. Like if you were infiltrating a gang or the mafia, if you can’t switch from dirtbag to federal agent at the drop of a hat, you could end up getting shot by the good guys during the bust that you worked so hard to accomplish. And of course if you make one tiny mistake that makes you look like a federal agent in front of the capo, then it’s lights out for you too. Plus it’s exhausting to be undercover 24/7 and for this op I don’t have to be. It’s a luxury to be able to be myself and I like being me,” he says simply.

“Abby said that sometimes it takes you a while to shake off the undercover persona…”

“That’s true. But that’s after I’m done with the op and I’m back in the fold. Call it residual effects. I know that nobody will kill me if I forget who I am. Or at least only Gibbs will kill me if I forget who I am,” he grins at that.

“A good head slap will get you back to being yourself,” McGee agrees, which prompts Tony to head slap McGee.

“Can I just say…” Bishop isn’t done yet. “You are seriously good at being somebody else. Like seriously. It really wasn’t you out there last night. It was Anthony DeAngelis. And you made him real.”

Tony grins and shrugs modestly and McGee gently punches Bishop’s arm. “Stop it, you’ll only make him harder to live with,” he tells her, which makes Tony smile even wider, exposing the half-chewed food in his mouth. “See? See what you did?” McGee says, pointing his knife accusingly at Tony and then shaking an accusatory finger at Bishop while Tony tries his best not to spray food on McGee as he laughs at him.

For the rest of the day, Tony keeps his head down and checks his undercover email, responding with flirty and sometimes explicit emails back. McGee cannot narrow down the IP addresses of the linguistically similar email senders – but this is inconclusive as the person could have used any public wifi hotspot which would change the IP address, but he does find one potential linguistic match of one of DeAngelis’ email admirers to the matching emails to the vics. Tony pays special attention when replying to the emails from simon$ays69, but does not ignore all the others. No sense putting all their eggs in one basket.

Tony watches the security footage at M as well as footage from the cameras that the other undercover agents had shot and tries to match each email with someone he might have passed his email address to, based on the contents of the email. He also tries to find someone who looks like he might have been paying DeAngelis extra special attention but he cannot narrow it down – it seems like DeAngelis captured a lot of attention.

When Tony starts yawning continuously, Gibbs sends him down to Abby’s lab to nap on her futon for a couple of hours. When he wakes up, Abby tells him that Fornell and Sacks are waiting to speak to him. They have been waiting over half an hour but Gibbs has refused to send anyone to wake Tony, preferring to let him sleep and wake up on his own.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony wanders back up to the conference room, his hair tousled and mussed, and his eyelids still heavy from his nap. Sacks starts off with a lecture about sleeping on the job and lack of work ethic. Gibbs growls at the FBI agent, silencing him and Tony breaks into a wide, sleepy smile.

“Hey Slacks,” he says around a huge yawn, his voice husky with sleep. He runs his hands through his hair mussing it up even more.

“You need to wake up and pay attention,” Sacks sneers, “everyone but you seems to be working their asses off on this one.”

“Wow, you want to just whip it out and measure it?” Tony says mildly, his tone not masking the menace underneath. “Cause this attitude of yours is getting old. You’re not even trying to pin a murder on me this time. Chill, Slacks.”

Bishop wonders how Tony can simultaneously appear like an adorably sleepy little boy and a dangerously angry federal agent. Not to mention how sexy, looking like he has just rolled out of bed out of the arms of some exotic beauty named Alessandra or Giselle (or Francois, as it turns out) and not, as she knows, like he just rolled off of Abby’s futon with Bert the farting hippo hugged tightly to his body.

“Gentlemen, please,” Vance walks in before Sacks and Tony can get into it.

Tony snorts and arches an eyebrow disdainfully at Sacks as he throws himself into a chair and idly begins checking DeAngelis’s email while keeping an ear on the briefing. Which basically consisted of Fornell, Sacks and the FBI having not turned anything suspicious up after agents had scrutinized the security videos. Tony smiles to himself as he sends playfully sexy replies to new emails received while he had been napping.

“For crying out loud, DiNozzo. Stop fucking around, picking up guys with your new email!” Sacks yells, slapping his hand on the table.

Tony freezes and turns his head, green eyes suddenly cold and flinty. “So you think I _want_ to go out there, dance with strangers who may or may not be about to drug my ass through my skin, make out with them, give out my email like it’s Christmas, and do everything I can possibly do to attract the attention of a serial killer, that, forgive me for pointing this out to you, that the _FBI_ has not been able to get any clues on since he started killing people two months ago?” he asked, his voice soft and dangerous. “You think I think that that’s fucking _fun_? I’m such an attention whore that I want to put myself out there, asking to get raped and murdered? Never mind that you and your precious FBI missed the pattern that this psychopath has been on right here in your jurisdiction for twelve fucking years, and that you roped me into doing this even though it _isn’t_ NCIS’s jurisdiction, and that I’ve had a month of crazy cases of my own that _are_ my responsibility and _are_ in my jurisdiction, that you still think you can talk to me like I’m a criminal you roped into doing your dirty work? I’m not a murder suspect and I’m not someone you have a hold over to make me do the FBI’s bidding. I’m doing you a _favor_. But things need to be done my way, since your way has gotten you jack shit. If you really have a problem with me doing things the way they need to be done, then fine. Go talk to your director and get me off this fucking case. Otherwise, sit down and shut the fuck up.”

Fornell, Sacks and Vance all begin speaking over each other.

Tony glares at them, fierce enough to silence them all. “Fornell,” he says softly, “In short – do you have anything new to tell us?”

Fornell shakes his head.

“Director?” Tony turns to Vance.

“I think you’ve handled it, DiNozzo,” Vance says giving Gibbs an approving glance. Tony had dropped his playboy mask for a moment, showing he was dead serious about this op whether he seemed like it or not. “I think the FBI owes us – owes _you_ yet another one for this. And I’ll be sure to remind Director Wall of this.”

Tony nods grimly.

Sacks opens his mouth to speak but Tony’s angry eyes turn on him and silence him once again. Tony turned back to the group. “How about the MCRT? Anything new?”

“We believe simon$ays69 is our guy,” McGee says quietly. “My program shows that he’s positively the same guy emailing all of our vics, and now you. He’s used different throwaway email addresses, but linguistically, it’s the same guy.”

McGee pulls up emails from all six email accounts, including DeAngelis’s, to point out linguistic similarities and even repeated phrases.

Tony nods, frowning in concentration while McGee speaks. “Not to be crass, McGee, but he’s one of the explicit emailers. And there’s bound to be repetition there. Not a lot of people take the trouble to be creative when it comes to sex talk. He might be one of them.”

“The algorithm takes that into account,” McGee answers.

Tony nods.

“But before you ask, no luck tracing him yet. He’s been very careful to use public wifi hotspots. We’re trying to get security vids for at least a few of these places to see if we can narrow it down further,” the junior agent continues.

“What about you?” Gibbs asked. “You think you met him last night?”

Tony looks pensive and begins worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, dimples flashing in his cheeks as he thinks about it. “No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I met him last night. But I don’t think he works alone. I met whoever his accomplice is who lures the vics out. I’m sure of it. But he was definitely there in person, watching me.” He nods slowly. “He was definitely watching me.”

“So, tonight at M…” Sacks begins.

“Not going back to M,” Tony says, still in that pensive, faraway tone.

“Hey, you’re still on the case,” Sacks snaps.

“I’m surprised that _you_ still are,” Tony growls back.

“Shut the fuck up,” Gibbs tells Sacks bluntly before turning his attention back to Tony.

“No, can’t go back to M,” Tony says, back to the faraway voice. “Where did the first vic get taken from two months ago?” he asked.

“Hammer,” Bishop says. “But he hasn’t taken victims from the same clubs. He always varies it.”

“The first vic from twelve years ago, Seydel? Was he at a club the night he was assaulted?”

McGee’s fingers fly on the keyboard. “Yes. The Party Box. But it’s not in business anymore.”

Eyes shining with excitement, Tony grins, drumming his fingers on the table. “See if the street addresses match, Probie.”

“What?” McGee frowns.

“Compare the street address of the Party Box to Hammer,” Gibbs says, grinning at his senior field agent, making the connection.

“Or any of the five clubs he’s hit so far,” Tony added. “Just to be safe. But I bet it’s Hammer.”

“How’d you know that?” McGee mutters. “It’s a match! Hammer is in the same location that the Party Box used to be in.”

“That’s where he’s going to hit tonight,” Tony nodded. “Probie, do your email linguistic thingy to scan DeAngelis’s emails. See who else invited him to Hammer. I think I saw at least two invitations. Maybe one of those guys is simon$ays69’s accomplice.”

“On it!” McGee begins typing furiously again.

Tony sits, looking pensive again. Being taken by a serial killer is concerning, regardless of how many times he’s actually been put in that position in his career. But somehow, his main concern right at that point is that he will be drugged and everyone will be able to hear him through the wire. No telling what he might say under the influence and while he tends to not give two shits about most of the garbage that comes out of his own mouth, there are some things he would prefer not to talk about. He’d managed to keep the conversation away from his feelings for Gibbs when he was dosed with sodium pentathol during their rescue of Ziva from Somalia, but that was dumb luck. Rescuing Ziva meant talking about his feelings for Ziva and not for Gibbs so that worked out well for him. But if he’s taken from a gay club after having enjoyed it and quite possibly having had one orgasm for the night, who’s to say what he might say while he’s roofied up the wazoo. He mentally slaps himself in the back of his head, needing to get his thoughts back to the op.

Why, again, is he doing this op? he asks himself.

“What’s wrong?” Bishop asks, noticing Tony’s expression.

“Hmm?” Tony starts, and flushes guiltily. “Just wondering what to wear tonight,” he says, brushing away the question. Right. Why? So no civilians will keep getting killed. Eye on the ball, he tells himself, squaring his shoulders.

But of course, then Gibbs has to shatter his concentration.

“You OK?” Gibbs asks, his tone gruff, the way it gets when he is _concerned_ for Tony. And good lord, does Tony like it when Gibbs is concerned for him.

Tony shrugs. “Fine,” he replies, feigning a yawn that becomes a real one. He is short of sleep, after all. “Could do with a coffee, though.” He starts to get up, nodding to the team in that way that indicates that he will also get a round of beverages for everyone.

“Coffee,” Fornell turns to Sacks. “Get some for everyone. DiNozzo likes his sweet, creamy, and with hazelnut syrup.”

Tony turns, wide eyed at Fornell. “Toby, I didn’t know you cared,” he teases, although his smile is genuine.

“Go on,” Fornell tells Sacks, rolling his eyes at Tony.

Grumbling under his breath, Sacks trudges away, and after he leaves, Tony drops his guard, suddenly looking weary and perhaps even slightly overwhelmed. He scrubs his face and turns tiredly to the laptops surrounding him, trying to put Gibbs’ concern for him out of his head and getting his game face back on.

“DiNozzo. With me,” Gibbs barks at him, striding out the door, not looking to see if the younger man would follow. Assuming that he would without question. Which he does, with a soft sigh. Leaving Fornell, Vance, McGee and Bishop staring at each other wordlessly for a moment before McGee turns back to his laptop and begins typing again.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the darkened elevator, Tony stands, head bowed, leaning against the back wall, breathing quietly. Gibbs scrutinizes his long-time partner. He looks tired and worn out.

“You OK?” he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.

Tony sighs and nods, not looking up.

Gibbs reaches a hand, placing it on the back of the younger man’s neck, massaging it gently, ignoring the way Tony’s soft hair tickles his skin. Ignoring the need to fist his hand in Tony’s short hair and pull him close. Tony sighs again, half moaning, as he leans into Gibbs’ touch.

“You know you still don’t have to do this, right?” Gibbs says.

“I know,” Tony says, biting back a moan at Gibbs’ fingers rubbing at his tensed neck muscles. “But if I pull out of the op now, the unsub will take someone else. He’ll be even angrier, since I believe he has his heart set on DeAngelis now. Whoever he takes will suffer even more than the other vics.”

“You can’t know that.”

“He was watching me last night,” Tony says, shuddering at the memory. “I could feel it.”

Gibbs nods. They have both been in the business long enough to be able to sense certain things, and knowing that ignoring these feelings can be a life-threatening mistake. “You didn’t see anyone suspicious?” he asks.

Tony shakes his head.

Gibbs grunts, fingers continuing to gently rub the back of Tony’s head. Finally Tony sighs and straightens up, putting a hand on Gibbs’ wrist, ignoring the zing of pleasure that goes through his body that direct contact with Gibbs’ skin gives him.

“If he doesn’t take me, but takes one of the other Feeb-baits, then the plan remains the same. Can you make sure we all meet before the op tonight?”

Gibbs nods.

“Everyone’s got to be committed to the plan.”

“Nobody’s questioning your commitment, DiNozzo,” Gibbs says impatiently.

“Boss, you gotta let the guy drug me and take me away,” he says softly, meeting Gibbs’ blue gaze. “You know that, right?”

Gibbs’ eyes narrow, flashing angrily. “DiNozzo…”

“It’s an accomplice. We don’t just want the accomplice. We want the unsub himself,” Tony says, green eyes solemn and serious. “You have to let me go with the guy, and track me, until he delivers me to the unsub.”

“What if it’s not an accomplice?”

“Then he still needs to take me to wherever it is that is secure enough for him to commit rape and murder, and do a massive clean up, before dumping bodies in the Potomac. You’ll have time to figure it out. Besides, I don’t know. I really don’t think the unsub made contact with me last night. He had someone else do it. An accomplice. A proxy. But he was there, and he _was_ watching me. I know it.”

“What if he hurts you on the way to wherever it is he wants to take you, DiNozzo?” Gibbs snarls.

“Then he does,” Tony is matter of fact, shrugging slightly. “He won’t hurt me too bad, Boss. The unsub won’t like it. So I might get groped or mauled, or even punched around a bit. You’re still gonna have to stand down, regardless of what you hear over the wire, until you’re sure I’m in the hands of the unsub. And not another partner or courier.”

“DiNozzo!”

“Gibbs. It’s the only way.”

“I _won’t_ stand by and let you be raped.”

Tony sighs. “I really don’t think it’ll come to that. I think the unsub needs his victims intact. He won’t be able to take the accomplice’s seconds. He’ll want me pristine.” He curls his lip at the last word.

Gibbs growls under his breath before he nods. “You sure about this, DiNozzo?”

“Sure as I am about anything,” the grin is saucy.

Gibbs blows out a long breath.

“Even if it is rape, we still need the unsub,” Tony says softly. “Wait until I’m in his hands before you make the call. It’ll be fine.”

Gibbs growls angrily but Tony calmly meets his eyes until Gibbs finally nods again, slow and reluctant, putting a hand over Tony’s hand, which was still clamped onto his wrist, waiting until Tony nods back. He stares into Gibbs’ eyes for another long moment before he moves, and both men take it as a signal to release each other.

“And the plan is the same if one of the others Fornell has out there as bait gets taken,” Gibbs says, unable to stop the hope that Tony won’t be the one chosen by this sick son of a bitch.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“One other thing, Boss.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re not gonna like this one.”

Gibbs goes back to growling under his breath.

“I’m not going to carry my backup piece tonight,” Tony says it quietly.

“ _What_?” Gibbs yells.

“If I’m going to be taken tonight, and I’m pretty sure I am, then I can’t be carrying. For all we know, the accomplice is going to strip me and dump my clothes way before he gets anywhere near the unsub. He finds a gun on me, and we’re toast, Boss. We lose everything.”

Gibbs snarls.

“I know, Gibbs. I don’t like it either. But I don’t even know where I’d hide a knife if they take my belt away. That’s the only weapon I plan to bring tonight.”

Gibbs sighs, hating the truth in Tony’s words. “What about the trackers then? They’re all on your clothes. If you’re stripped, and we lose you…” he breaks off with a frustrated growl. “We’re not going to have another Jeffrey White incident, DiNozzo. Not when you’ll be drugged and unable to defend yourself.”

“Let’s go talk to Abby,” Tony says, his tone soothing. “See what she can come up with that doesn’t involve embedding things under my skin.”

“You need to get over the whole needle thing, DiNozzo.”

Tony shudders. “Maybe, Boss, but that’s not gonna happen today.”

Gibbs sighs. “All right. Let’s go see Abby.”

They head to Forensics and Abby assures them that she can build a tracker that Tony can swallow, like a pill, that will be flushed out of his system naturally in the next few days and that she will have it ready before the op that night, making enough for everyone that the FBI will have planted in the club.

Gibbs kisses her on the cheek, rewards her with a caf-pow, and strides out of the lab with Tony in his wake. On their way back up to the conference room, Tony sighs and flips the emergency off button, making Gibbs stare at him in surprise. He quirks an eyebrow in question.

“One last thing,” Tony says, wetting his lips with his tongue nervously. He has to say something to head the possible disaster off before anything can happen. Something to mitigate anything he might possibly reveal that he doesn’t want to be taken seriously.

“What?” Gibbs barks.

“Uh, tonight. You know it’ll be the drugs that made me do or say anything, right?” he finally stammers.

“What do you mean?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “We all know what GHB or Rohypnol does to a person. It’ll lower my inhibitions. Make me say things, whether I mean it or not. And I probably won’t have any memory of it tomorrow. So don’t hold whatever it is I might say or do against me?”

Gibbs rolls his eyes, flips the switch, reactivating the elevator. “Don’t even have to tell me that,” he mutters under his breath. “I barely pay attention to you on a good day. You can bet your ass I’ll ignore the fuck out of your drugged up crap.”

“Thanks Boss,” Tony grins, oddly reassured by the sheer normality of Gibbs’ reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I know that Gibbs sends Bishop to run errands like coffee and procuring breakfast, but I wanted to put it out there that it's not because she's a woman. It's cause she's the most junior member of the team. Their probie. If Kate or Ziva had been there, McGee, as the probie, would have been the one sent on the coffee and food runs. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Tony works out again that evening, running, boxing, weight training, and attacking the climbing walls at the NCIS gym. After a quick shower, McGee is once again sent to escort Tony to the spa where this time, Tony manages to talk McGee into doing the mud bath as well. He sends one of the beauticians to photograph McGee and texts pictures to Abby, snickering at the back and forth of texts between them afterwards.

Then they swing by Tony’s apartment where Tony gets dressed for his second night out. Tony dresses very carefully for the night. Even though McGee is skeptical, Tony’s gut tells him that tonight will be the night, and the eerie feeling of being watched the previous night is not something he can or wants to discount.

McGee tries not to gawk when Tony emerges. He has on black leather pants that look painted on. They are not only not hiding anything, but emphasizing each curve and angle of his hips, ass, his package – why the hell is McGee even looking at Tony’s junk? – and his legs. Instead of a zipper, the crotch is laced up with a black leather tie. He has paired the outrageous pants with a simple, but no doubt obscenely expensive black tank top and a black leather jacket completes the ensemble. But what makes him gawk is the stylish black collar around his neck, D-link shining brightly at the hollow of his throat, and matching leather cuffs with a metal D-link attached to each, and the fact that Tony’s eyes are lined, making his green eyes seem even larger than usual. His hair is spiked up, yet still artfully mussed. On his feet are combat boots, going halfway up his calves, buckles jangling to rival Abby’s at Tony’s every step.

Seeing McGee’s expression, Tony sighs and shakes his head.

“McFlyCatcher, stop staring. Hammer is a gay, mildly BDSM club. You told me so yourself. It’s not a fetish club, but they do expect people to dress a little BDSM. This is tame,” he gestures to himself, “as befitting someone who’s new on the dating and clubbing scene. Besides, I can’t go all Dom, since none of the vics seem to be. So this is it.”

“Uh, yeah, s-sure, Tony.”

Tony sighs and pats McGee’s cheek kindly as he gathers DeAngelis’s wallet. For this outing, he locks both his service weapon and backup in his gun safe, pats his belt buckle to reassure himself that he is not completely unarmed, and gestures to McGee.

“Let’s go, McGee. Show time.”

On the way to the Navy Yard, Tony sits, uncharacteristically silent, staring out the window. McGee keeps looking over at him, trying to see if he had slipped on his DeAngelis suit, or if it is just Tony being silent.

“What?” Tony snaps, not turning his head, when McGee gives him another concerned look.

“You’re too quiet, Tony,” McGee mutters, turning his head back to the road and trying to keep his eyes forward. “Makes me worry.”

Tony turns and gives him a surprised smile. “It’s nothing, Probie,” he says. “Just make sure the Boss sticks to the plan, OK?”

“You sure he’s going to take you tonight, Tony?”

The feeling of dread grows stronger in the pit of Tony’s stomach. He swallows with difficulty. “He’s coming for me tonight,” he says softly. “And you guys gotta make sure I get into the killer’s hands before you call in the cavalry. Right?”

McGee pales and nods.

“No matter what you hear.”

“Tony…”

“Right?” Tony says forcefully. “You make sure that you and Gibbs sticks to the plan regardless of what’s going on with me.”

“ _Shit_.”

“Probie?”

“Yes, Tony?”

“I’m going to need your verbal acknowledgement of what I’m saying. I’m not putting my ass out there for you guys to come barging in because some courier’s getting rough with me. We want the unsub himself. You got that?”

“Yes, Tony,” McGee whispers.

“Hey,” Tony puts a hand on McGee’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine. We just need to get this guy.”

“OK, Tony.”

“Good.” Tony turns to look out the window, going silent again.

After a moment of silence, McGee clears his throat, giving Tony a sidelong glance.

“What is it now, Probie?” Tony sighs.

“J-just be careful out there tonight, OK?”

“Aren’t I always?”

McGee rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Also…”

Tony sighs loudly, giving McGee a baleful look.

“I didn’t know you owned eyeliner,” McGee finishes, snickering.

Tony whaps the junior agent in the back of the head. “It’s not too late for me to ask you to be one of the agents inside Hammer tonight,” Tony told him. “And I would ask Abby to dress you.”

“Fuck, Tony. That’s harsh,” McGee groans, grinning at him.

“You remember that,” Tony says smugly.

When Tony presents himself back at the Navy Yard, Abby’s squeal could be heard two floors up from Forensics.

“OMIGOD!!!!!” she shrieks, clapping her hands and bouncing around, taking in Tony’s look. “You totally pulled this off!” She keeps touching him everywhere, until he pulls her into a tight hug.

“Abs, despite the collar, I’m not a dog, OK? Stop petting me,” he pouts.

“You’re so hot like this!” Abby claps her hand and jumps up and down. “Wait, I think your eyeliner needs a little more work.” She whips out her eyeliner and begins expertly working on Tony’s face, as Gibbs and Fornell walk in with two other Tony-lookalikes. With Tony’s influence, all of them are better dressed and feel better prepared. Instead of going with all of the bait at Hammer, two of the others are going to another club and another surveillance team will watch them. The other one and Tony have been assigned to Hammer for the night.

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs barks, after Abby is done touching up his eyes.

“Yeah, Boss?” Tony turns, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“You just felt like making it easier for this guy to get you tonight?” he growls, circling Tony, eyeing him closely, and finally hooking a finger in the D-link in his collar and jerking on it, pulling him close and snarling right into his face.

“W-well, kind of, Boss. I mean, we want them to take me, or one of the guys here, right?” Tony grins easily to cover the fact that his heart is pounding in his chest at Gibbs yanking him closer to his face by the D-link, and he gestures to the assembled bait who are all dressed submissively for the club.

Gibbs rolls his eyes, releasing Tony, barely stopping himself from licking that delectable neck, now so prettily collared. The scent of Tony fills his nose – fresh from the spa, slightly citrusy, a tiny hint of spicy cologne, and then just that smell that has remained constant over the years that no amount of cologne or aftershave or shower gel could mask. That clean, masculine scent that was uniquely DiNozzo.

He walks away, carefully keeping a scowl on his face and trying not to stare at Tony’s ass, so tightly encased in black leather that every single muscle twitch was visible. His cock and balls are clearly outlined – there is no way that the man was wearing underwear underneath those pants – and the fact that the pants were closed with a leather tie instead of a zipper makes Gibbs want to groan in despair. And tonight, he will have to listen to some random stranger get his second off in a men’s room, and that this random stranger will have had the privilege of unlacing the tie that is keeping Tony decent – if you could call this outfit that – instead of him makes the scowl on his face very real.

He stands off to the side, arms crossed, simmering with anger as Abby takes many pictures of Tony, until Gibbs growls and puts an end to the photo session. And then Tony and all the FBI bait swallow down the pill-sized GPS trackers that Abby has made for them. Abby also conceals several other trackers, in the heel of Tony’s boot, inside his pants pocket, and under his jacket collar. Tony puts on the Rolex from the previous night and slips the earwig and its twin in his ears. For tonight, Abby has designed special earwigs for all the agents playing bait so they will look like earplugs that many wear in clubs where the music can be deafening. They look exactly like very high end earplugs – nondescript and explainable.

They have a quick and serious pre-op briefing, where they agree on the plan: if one of them is taken, their corresponding surveillance team must wait until it has been confirmed that they are in the hands of the killer. Even if it is the killer who takes them and there is no accomplice, they must be certain before the FBI and NCIS can close in and capture the unsub. The whole time, Gibbs finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from his Senior Field Agent, remembering his words in the elevator earlier. He sighs. He is not looking forward to this and his gut has been churning all day.

Abby comes and hugs Tony, whispering something in his ear that makes him flash a quick look around the room and his cheeks color a little. She whispers some more and he laughs, kisses her cheek and pushes her away.

The background team melts away, Gibbs, Fornell, McGee and Bishop sitting in the surveillance van again, listening on Tony’s wire. The FBI have other teams surveilling the others, keeping each other in touch only of significant developments. Due to the open antagonism between Sacks and DiNozzo, Fornell has assigned Sacks to the team assigned to the two at the other club for the night, and Tony breathes a quiet sigh of relief at not having to worry about Sacks for the night.

DeAngelis and the other ‘bait’ stagger their arrival at Hammer. DeAngelis arrives last, driving the jaguar, valeting it and again, charming his way into the club, tipping the doorman handsomely and winking flirtatiously at the line as he slips into the club.

McGee has again hacked into the club security feed and they are easily able to track DeAngelis’s movements. He struts in and checks his leather jacket. Walking into the club proper, they watch as DeAngelis slips through the crowd to the bar. As he waits to gain the bartender’s attention, a muscular man at least a half a foot taller than him, dressed all in black, steps up and stares at him. DeAngelis turns and smiles, and Gibbs, McGee, Fornell and Bishop watch as his smile turns tremulous, eyes widening with trepidation at the large man, the very picture of a sub overwhelmed by a dom.

The man buys him a drink, and then yanks him to the dance floor where they dance a dirty, grinding dance, the man’s hands all over DeAngelis, even lingering on the leather tie doing up his pants. DeAngelis gracefully dances, but once the song ends, he makes his excuses and heads back to the bar. The large man tries to stop him, but another man, not as tall but with a more commanding air, dressed in a black on black suit, takes Tony’s hand and glares the other man away.

“Wow…” Bishop breathes softly, putting a hand on the mic of her headset. “Apparently a submissive Tony is going to be fought over by some aggressive Doms.”

Gibbs grunts and glares at Bishop. “Songbird,” he growls into his mic. “Stick to the pattern. Drink. Dance. No repeat dances for a bit.”

They watch as Tony dances with different men and allows them to buy him drinks, handing his card out as he sees fit. He exchanges kisses and gropes both on and off the dance floor, and after an hour and another dance with his rescuer, he allows himself to be pulled – by the D-link on his collar – to the men’s room for some private fun. As with M, the restrooms are clean and equipped with large stalls with doors that lock securely. And like the previous night, the surveillance team listen in as Tony is pushed against the wall and thoroughly kissed.

“Anthony,” the man moans, as he kisses a trail from Tony’s mouth, down his jaw to his ear, and then down his neck to the collar.

Tony moans softly, trying to stay as silent as he can.

“Jesus, these fucking pants are incredible. And this?” the man cups Tony’s erection, causing him to gasp, “Usually I’d be making you go down on me. But because of this?” He growls suggestively in Tony’s ear as his fingers trace Tony’s erection, clearly outlined by the tight material, and Tony barely stifles his moan. “I need to unwrap you – you’re like a present, giftwrapped just for me. I need to unlace you with my teeth.”

And Gibbs could only imagine what the man was doing. Maybe he is on his knees in front of Tony, biting down on the end of the tie, pulling on it, untying it, loosening it with his teeth, and nuzzling the hard cock that was slowly, oh so slowly, being exposed.

And a gasped, “Fuck, Anthony. You’re fucking beautiful,” before a growl and the sound of flesh being sucked.

And from the barely stifled moans coming from Tony, he is definitely enjoying it. Maybe his hips are being held still against the wall, or maybe he is allowed to fuck the man’s mouth. Gibbs couldn’t tell which he would prefer. Either. Or both. And maybe the man is sucking on a ball, or slipping a finger into Tony’s ass. Gibbs places the folder he was holding on his lap, covering his own erection, the noises that Tony is trying so hard not to make is causing him to get harder than he’d been in a long time, and he hadn’t even ever seen Tony’s cock erect.

Bishop is wide eyed, staring at McGee who is turning bright red and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, while Tony’s breathy moans are transmitted so clearly.

Fornell rolls his eyes and grins at Bishop and McGee, thoroughly enjoying their discomfort, and Gibbs scowls fiercely at everyone, folder securely covering his crotch, his own cock throbbing and pulsating.

“Just come already, Tony!” McGee finally whispers into the mic, whining and desperate, needing for the sounds to end. No amount of brain bleach would get these sounds out of his head now.

And Tony giggles in response, which turns quickly into a gurgle of pleasure deep in his throat, a gasped “oh god”, a few more mewling moans, a breathless “ _fuck_!” and then a deep groan followed by harsh panted breaths that almost makes Gibbs come in his pants, without even touching himself.

Bishop fans herself. “Was that as good for you as it was for us, Songbird?” she mutters into the mic.

But Tony is too busy being dirtily kissed, his mouth flooded with the last mouthful of his own cum, shared with him by his partner. And he shoves his hand into the man’s pants, drawing out his dick, stroking hard, hand tight, squeezing and twisting his cockhead with every stroke, the man finally pushing down on his shoulder, requesting reciprocation. But before he can sink down to the floor to suck him off, the man stiffens, and his cock explodes in Tony’s hand. He curses in frustration and release, roars Tony’s name, and then silences himself by biting Tony’s neck right below his collar, where his neck meets his shoulder, as his cock continues to expel lines of cum, Tony’s fingers milking him expertly.

When he recovers, they hear a soft “clean me,” order from the Dom, and Tony gracefully drops down to his knees and licks and sucks his cock clean, making the Dom shiver and curse some more.

They clean up, the man kissing Tony hard, bruising his lips and tugging on his hair, causing him to whimper and moan into his mouth. Finally they wash up and leave the restroom, and Tony slips him his card when the man tells him he would like to call him. And that they could definitely play some more. DeAngelis smiles and disappears into the crowd.

DeAngelis immediately goes back to dancing and drinking, showing off his dance moves – dancing even more lewdly than the night before, his body twisting and writhing to the beat, teasing his dance partners. Perhaps it is the nature of the club, but his partners are all overtly dominant men, and all of them seem unable to keep their hands off him or the D-link attached to his collar. But DeAngelis is skittish and doesn’t commit, preferring to enjoy dancing with a number of partners rather than attaching himself to any one Dom.

After a couple more hours have passed, and Gibbs is ready to call it a night, they notice that DeAngelis’s dancing has become less graceful. He spins and almost falls over, causing his partner to catch him and hold him tight against his body.

“You OK there?” he asks.

“Mmmm,” DeAngelis smiles, and even through the video feed, the surveillance team can see that his pupils are blown wide. “Dizzy,” he mumbles, clutching onto the man’s arm, stumbling but cleverly angling him towards one of the many security cameras. The slippery bugger had been careful to keep his face off any of the security cams prior to this. “Too much to drink?” Tony giggles to himself.

“Songbird,” Gibbs’ voice comes crisply through the earwig. “You’ve made contact. Are you OK to continue?”

“Want some fresh air?” his dance partner asks solicitously.

“I’m OK. More dancing,” Tony answers Gibbs. He tries to stand but the room spins, and he sags into the man’s arms again. “OK, OK. Maybe fresh air,” he smiles, and they kiss, a long, deep kiss.

“Find out who that man is, McGee, and alert the other teams that Songbird’s hooked someone and is in play,” Gibbs barks the order, keeping his eyes on the screen. The man is back to effectively hiding his face from all of the security cameras, but Tony had successfully put him on screen, head on. Once is more than enough.

“Bishop, with me.” He gives one last longing look at Tony who is staggering a little, walking to the exit, but supported by his dance partner, before jumping out of the van and striding away with Bishop. McGee’s fingers move speedily over the keyboard, running the screen cap of the partner through facial recognition software that he created himself, even faster and more powerful than the ones routinely used by NCIS or the FBI.

Gibbs and Bishop slip into a dark sedan, and watch as Tony is led to a van.

“Anthony, in the van,” the man slides the door open.

“Nuh-uh,” Tony says, and Gibbs could tell from his tone that he is definitely loopy. “My mother told me never to go anywhere with strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger, Anthony,” the man says, smiling back at the grinning Tony. “I’m Paul. Remember? We danced last night, too.”

“We did?” Tony asks, squinting at him. “Ooooooh. Paul. Yeah. OK.”

“Come on. Hop in the van.”

Unable to resist, the drugs making him susceptible to suggestion, Tony giggles and buries his head in Paul’s chest. “OK. Mmm. You smell nice.”

“Yeah I do. Let’s go now,” Paul agrees as he helps him into the van and settles him on the floor, securing a chain through the D-links on the cuffs on his wrists.

“H-hey. Why are you cuffing me?”

“Because, Anthony, I’m going to take you to meet someone special. He’s my friend. He’s been watching you. And he’s going to have a good time with you.” He pulls a bottle of water, pours some into a paper cup and slips some powder into it. “Drink this.”

“Oh I like having a good time,” Tony says brightly, taking the cup and thirstily drinking it down. “But not so much the cuffing. I don’t like the cuffing.”

“It’s just a game, Anthony. I’m going to drive now, OK?” Paul leans down and kisses him hard before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“How come you’re not the one having a good time with me?” Tony asks.

“Because, my friend wants you,” Paul’s tone is terse and he starts the van and begins driving.

“I haven’t even met your friend,” Tony pouts. “How do I know he’s special?”

“Oh, he’s special. You’ll find out.”

Tony hums happily before he falls silent, eyelids suddenly heavy. He only hums and moans in response when McGee tries to get his attention.

“Songbird. Songbird, you doing OK?”

“McGee – he’s drugged to the gills. Shut up. Songbird! DiNozzo!” Gibbs barks.

“Mmm?” Tony struggles to respond, unable to disobey the voice that has ordered him around all day and haunted his dreams at night for over a decade.

“Hang tight. We’re on your tail.”

“Mmm… ‘kay…” he tries to move his arms and realizes that he has been cuffed. He begins struggling, pulling the chain attaching him to the floor of the van.

“You OK back there?” Paul yells at him.

“Hate the cuffs,” Tony yanks ineffectually at the chain. “No cuffs!” he begins breathing hard, pulling the chains, rattling them loudly. “No. No, no, no.”

“What’s going on?” Bishop asks.

“I guess DiNozzo doesn’t have a cuff kink,” Gibbs mutters.

“About the only kink he doesn’t have,” McGee mumbles.

“Please!” Tony begs, pulling at the chains. “No cuffs. Noooooo.”

“Songbird, calm down,” Fornell says soothingly.

“NO CUFFS!!!” Tony yells, yanking harder.

“He’s freaking out, Boss!” McGee says.

“I can hear that, McGee,” Gibbs snarks. “DiNozzo. Tony. Listen to me. You’re OK. It’s fine.”

“What the hell kind of sub doesn’t like cuffs?” Paul yells at him.

“NO CUFFS!!” and Tony starts hyperventilating.

Paul pulls off the highway, and immediately goes to the back. He backhands Tony, who crumples onto his side, still yanking at the chain, panting hard, tears leaking out of his eyes, still unable to stop yanking on the chain.

“Hey,” Paul kneels and runs his hands through Tony’s hair. “If I uncuff you, will you be good?”

“I’ll be good. No cuffs. No cuffs,” Tony pants. “Please.”

“OK. But you have to do something for me.”

“Yeah. OK.”

Paul detaches the chain from the cuffs and Tony’s hands are free, causing the man to sigh and curl up into a ball. He pulls Tony up and slaps him awake. “Blow me,” he says. “You fucking tease. You can blow me before I hand you over.”

Over the wire, the surveillance team hears the sound of a zipper being hastily pulled down and then Paul’s moans as Tony wraps his lips around Paul’s hard cock and begins to suck him off. Paul’s moans make Gibbs’ hair stand on end, and he slams his hand on the steering wheel as they slow down and pull over, not wanting to get too close or overshoot the van. The GPS trackers are all on line and they can easily follow, hanging as far back as they need to.

Paul moans and curses, panting hard, and it seems to go on forever before they hear Tony gag as he thrusts deep down Tony’s throat and cums, holding Tony’s head still. The agent swallows as best he can and coughs when Paul pulls away. When he is done coughing, Paul pulls him up to kiss him, and pinch his nipples, fingers wandering down to his crotch. Despite himself, Tony is hard, and whimpers when Paul rubs him through his pants.

“You’re lucky he saw you first,” Paul tells him. “Or I’d have ripped your clothes off and fucked you already. But he wants you, and he wants you still dressed. He wants to undress you himself, he says. So,” he sighs, pulling his hand away from Tony’s hard on, “you’ll stay this way until he starts playing with you. Afterwards, I’m betting you’d have preferred it if I played with you instead of him. He’s rough with his toys. He likes to break ‘em.”

Tony smiles. “I like playing rough,” he mumbles.

“I bet you do. But no cuffs, huh?”

Tony shakes his head solemnly. “No cuffs. Scary. Bad things happen when you’re cuffed. _Bad_ things.”

“Oh, baby, bad things are gonna happen to you tonight, whether you’re cuffed or not.”

“No cuffs?” Tony asks again.

Paul sighs. “You’ll stay and not try anything stupid?”

“Like what?”

“Stay here,” Paul tries again, putting it in the form of an order.

“You’re not my Boss,” Tony says petulantly.

“Shut up, DiNozzo. Stay put,” Gibbs barks out, while Paul repeats his order to stay there.

“On it,” Tony whispers, putting his head down and closing his eyes. “Just, no cuffs.”

“No cuffs, baby,” Paul promises.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the drive goes quietly. Paul drives west, into western Maryland before he gets off the highway and goes on county roads to someplace he seems to be more than familiar with. During the drive McGee’s software identifies Paul as Paul Mason, who has a record for breaking and entering, grand theft auto, assault, and rape. He has no known associates so they aren’t able to figure out who Tony is to be delivered to.

The convoy of FBI and NCIS vehicles on the trail remain a mile or two behind the van, and Tony is mercifully silent. Finally the GPS shows that Mason has turned off the road and they hear gravel crunching under the wheel.

“It’s a farm,” McGee’s voice says over the comms. “Registered to a George Mason. Who is Paul’s deceased grandfather.”

Gibbs bangs his hand on the steering wheel again. Still no lead on the unsub. “Hang back,” he orders. “We’re gonna park out here somewhere hidden and approach the farm on foot. In case the unsub isn’t here yet.”

The team gives their verbal acknowledgement.

“Songbird. DiNozzo. Hang tight. We’re maybe a half a mile away from you but we’re on foot. Getting closer now. We’ll come get you when we know you’re with the killer.”

Tony hums softly and smiles. “OK, Boss,” he whispers into his watch. “Love ya, Boss.”

McGee rolls his eyes at Tony’s loopiness then works to use satellite imagery to find them a good spot to pull off where their vehicles will be concealed from the road. Quietly, wearing night vision goggles, they all trudge through the wooded area, approaching the farmhouse on foot.

In the meantime, the van stops and Paul gets out and stretches. He slides the door open and can’t help but smile back when Tony smiles up at him.

“Are we there yet?” Tony asks, words slurring badly.

“Yeah, baby. We’re here.” Paul helps him sit up and brushes imaginary dirt off him. “You think you can walk?”

“Where we goin’?”

“To see my friend. Remember?”

Tony frowns and pouts. “No cuffs,” he complains.

“OK. No more cuffs. C’mon,” Paul pulls him to the edge of the van and up onto his feet on the ground.

When he is upright, Tony’s head swims and the ground begins spinning again, and bile rises up his throat. “Think I wanna go home now,” Tony begins swaying. “’M not feeling so good.”

“C’mon. We’re almost there.” Paul tries to coax Tony into moving, but the man bends over and heaves, throwing up almost violently.

Paul sighs, holding him up by his waist, waiting until Tony stops vomiting and helping him stand. He hates when the drugs cause nausea, but at least this time the man waited until they were out of the vehicle to throw up. Cleaning the van of vomit is not one of his favorite things to do. He puts Tony’s arm around his shoulder and his own arm snug around Tony’s waist and helps him walk, not to the farmhouse but onwards.

“Where’re we goin’?” Tony asks, confused. “House is over there.”

“We’re not going to the house, baby. We’re just going on down this way.”

Quietly Gibbs acknowledges Tony’s prompt. “Roger, Songbird. You’re not headed to the farmhouse. Can you direct us to where he’s taking you?”

“What’s there?” Tony asks.

“You’re full of questions.”

Tony giggles. “I like knowing things,” he admits guiltily. “My team hates it when I snoop.”

“That what you’re doing now? Snooping?”

Tony snuggles his head on Paul’s shoulder. “Nobody tells me things. It’s the only way I learn things,” he says softly. “It’s how I learned my mom was dying.”

“Jesus, baby,” Paul curses. “When was this?”

“When I was eight,” Tony sighs. He turns his face into Paul’s neck and sniffs him. “You don’t smell right.”

Paul takes the abrupt change of subject in stride. “I thought you said I smell nice?”

Tony inhales deeply. “You smell nice,” he affirms. “But not my favorite smell.”

Paul laughs.

“Songbird, which direction are you moving in?” Gibbs asks.

“I hear… water?” Tony says questioningly.

“Yup.”

“River?”

Paul shakes his head in admiration. “You’re a smart one. Yes, the river.”

“Potomac?”

“One of its tributaries, baby,” Paul says warmly, approving Tony’s curiosity and questions.

“McGee, what structures are by the river?” Gibbs asks.

“Can’t see anything via satellite,” McGee reports back. “Foliage is too thick by the river to see any buildings.”

“Fuck!” Gibbs curses. “Songbird, keep him talking. Give us more information on your heading.”

“Why the river? Are we gonna go swimming?” Tony asks Paul.

“No. Well, not right now. When my friend is done with you, then you’ll go swimming.”

“Awww. Jus’ me? No fun. Let’s all go skinny dipping!”

“Anthony, you’re gonna drown in the state you’re in.”

“Am I drunk?”

“Yeah, baby, that’s what it is. Sure. You’re drunk.”

Tony pouts. “You’re no fun. Let’s go back and dance some more.”

“You’re done dancing, Anthony.”

“Meanie,” Tony complains. “Are we there yet?”

Paul sighs and pulls Tony close, kissing his cheek. “No, baby. Not quite there yet.”

“But where’s there?”

“See that light?” Paul points.

Tony squints and, with his blurred vision, barely sees a light in the distance. “What’s that?”

“That’s where we’re going.”

“Is it by the river?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, oh, is this twenty questions? Is it a barn?”

“Not a barn.”

“The stables?”

“Nope.”

“Storage shed?”

“Nope.”

“Boathouse!”

“You should be an investigator,” Paul tells him.

“McGee, call up the plans for the farm and direct us to the boathouse,” Gibbs says softly.

“On it, Boss.”

“Your boy sure can talk, Gibbs. He really _should_ be an investigator,” Fornell says facetiously.

“Shut the fuck up, Fornell.” Gibbs is in no mood to joke since Tony is drugged up and in danger, and he’d practically personally hand delivered Tony into this situation.

Tony giggles at the exchange. “’S funny.”

“He’s going to be so pleased with you,” Paul tells him. “Smart, and funny. And such high spirits. Some of the others were crying by this time.”

“Why?” Tony asks, concerned.

“Because they were scared.”

“Oh no,” Tony sighs. “What others?” he asks.

“My friend has had other… playmates,” Paul responds.

“It’s not like any of us are virgins here,” Tony giggles. “I’m not gonna get jealous.”

“No?”

“Nope. I only get jealous for one person.”

“Oh yeah? That boyfriend you broke up with?”

“Nope. S’why he dumped me, I think. Couldn’t really commit to him.” Tony sounds sad.

“You hung up on some other guy, Anthony? While you were with your ex-boyfriend?”

“Yeah. Well. Other guy doesn’t even know I exist. Well, he does. But not like that.”

“Who’d be able to resist you, Anthony?”

Tony sighs sadly.

“You in love with some straight guy, Anthony?”

“Yeah,” Tony smiles, and even in the dark, Paul can see the sadness in the smile.

Over the comms, Gibbs’ heart falls. Of course Tony’s in love. It’s why he hasn’t settled down with anyone in all these years, he’s in love with some unattainable guy.

“He smells right,” Tony continues. “You smell nice, dude, but he smells like…like… like home. Coffee. Sawdust. Sometimes bourbon.” He sighs. “He likes boats. Maybe he’d like the boat house.”

Paul laughs sadly. “We’ll put you out of your misery tonight, baby.”

Gibbs’ heart soars – is Tony in love with _him_? Is Gibbs the straight guy that Tony is in love with? Or is it the drugs making him say things that either made no sense, or it’s Tony’s drugged attempts at trying to give them hints as to what is going on around him? But Paul’s laugh and words about putting him out of his misery tonight makes his blood run cold, and he begins moving faster.

“Oh yeah? That mean you’ll go skinny dipping with me? Or will there be a boat in the boat house? I rowed a little in college.”

“Yeah?”

“Gave it up though.”

“Why?”

“Had the morning shift at the diner where I worked. Couldn’t make rowing practice at the crack o’ dawn.”

“You worked at a diner? What, waiting tables?”

“Short order cook,” Tony says proudly. “Voted best omelettes at OSU three years running.”

“Thought you’d’ve been in bed having sex at the crack o’ dawn.”

Tony giggles. “Who said there wasn’t sex? Might not even have been in a bed.”

“Anthony,” Paul gasped. “Did you do it in the kitchen of the diner?”

“That’s unsanitary, man,” Tony wrinkles his nose. “But maybe on the counter after hours,” his tone is naughty. “But I always made it to work on time. Ask around. I’m reliable. I’ll get the job done.”

“You definitely will tonight, Anthony,” Paul’s tone has a ring of finality to it.

“Songbird,” came Gibbs voice in Tony’s ear. “Ask him to tell you more about his friend.”

Tony stops walking and Paul almost falls over as he keeps going. “C’mon,” Paul says, trying to pull him along. “We’re almost there.”

“I don’t know your friend,” Tony glares at him in the faint moonlight. “I was having fun at the club. And now this. This is…where _is_ this? I don’t even know where this is. And I’m not having fun anymore. I wanna go back to the club.”

“Anthony, c’mon. My friend’s waiting.”

“Well I don’t give a flying fuck. I don’t know him and I already don’t like him,” Tony digs his heels in. “Who’s this friend and why should I want to play with him?”

“He’s fun. He already loves you, you know.”

“Why would he love me if he doesn’t even know me. He doesn’t know me, does he?”

“He knows you. He’s watched you for two nights.”

“Stalker. That doesn’t make me feel like I should want to play. What’s his name?”

“Uh, Anthony. Come on.”

“Nope. What’s his name? How do you know him?”

“His name is Peter,” Paul finally answers. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“Why didn’t he come and dance with me if he’s been watching me?”

“He’s shy,” Paul tugs on his arm and Tony stumbles forward, and begins to walk. “He thinks you’ll say no to him.”

“Why? Is he ugly? Does he think I’m shallow and I won’t dance with him if he’s ugly?”

“Anthony…”

“I’m not that shallow,” Tony says, hurt.

“I know, baby. I’ll tell him that.”

“Good. So let’s go back to the club and he can come and dance with me there.”

“Anthony,” Paul pulls a plastic zipped bag out of his jacket pocket and opens it, rubbing the cloth inside over Tony’s bare arm, but carefully not touching it with his own bare fingers. “Behave,” he tells Tony.

Tony’s brain fuzzes up even more and he stumbles again, but Paul puts his arm around him and walks on.

“Let’s go meet Peter.”

“’Kayyy,” Tony’s voice gets all slurred again.

“Shit, Songbird. Did you get dosed again?” Gibbs asks, noting the change in Tony’s speech.

Tony sighs and leans on Paul. “Wish you smelled right,” he mutters softly.

“Songbird, keep him talking.”

“Mmmm.” The voice in his ear is getting softer, and Tony’s eyes heavier. He is finding it very difficult to obey the voice in his ear, even though he knows it is very important. His mind clouds over and everything becomes heavy and foggy. Each step is harder to take. He is losing track of everything.

“Fuck! Everyone, be on your toes. Move in closer. Now. DiNozzo’s not sounding good. McGee, do you have the plans for the farm yet?”

“Boathouse isn’t on the original plans, Boss,” McGee responds. “Abby’s searching for building permits for the boathouse.”

“We need to close in now,” Gibbs orders, signaling Bishop with his hands, as they move quicker through the undergrowth towards the river. “McGee, direct us to his GPS location.”

McGee quietly calls out the coordinates and the team begins running towards it – they are about a half a mile away, and that is too far for Gibbs’ comfort.

Tony is silent now over the wire, and they hear Paul be dismissed by another masculine voice.

“Songbird – confirm that you are with the killer. Songbird! Songbird? DiNozzo! DiNozzo!” Gibbs repeatedly calls Tony by his name and his call sign over the wire.

They hear Tony sighing softly, and a voice talking softly to him, and rustling of clothing being removed, appreciative murmurs and praises for “his beautiful Eric.”

Tony rouses slightly. “Name’s A-anthony,” he objects weakly. Then they hear a gasp of pain over the wire, causing an icy cold stab of pain in Gibbs’ chest. What is being done to Tony while they are still moving in?

“Shhh, Eric. I’m glad you’re here,” the voice mutters. Then they hear quiet noises and grunts.

“Boss, Eric Seydel – he’s our first rape victim who died two months ago. The trigger to this spree. It’s our guy. He’s the unsub!” McGee confirms urgently.

“Songbird, you got that? We’re coming in. Hang tight. We’re getting in position and then we’re coming in! A few minutes. Hang in there!”

The agents run the remaining distance through the undergrowth, making full use of their night vision goggles, circling around the boathouse to ensure nobody escapes. Two FBI agents quietly take Paul Mason down as he stands outside the boathouse, looking in the window. Gibbs, Bishop, Fornell and two other agents storm into the boathouse, identifying themselves as federal agents.

The killer stops thrusting into Tony’s unresponsive body, eyes wide, twisting the knife that is already embedded in Tony’s belly, causing him to jerk and spasm under the man. He pulls the knife out and is poised to stab Tony again when Gibbs and Fornell both shoot him, Gibbs choosing a head shot and Fornell double tapping his chest. Death is instantaneous, and as he falls, he pulls Tony with him, into the river flowing underneath.

“ _DiNozzo_!” Gibbs throws his gun aside and dives into the water, thankful that the lights from the boathouse filters weakly into the water allowing him to see Tony’s body being swept away. He fights the current, grabbing hold of Tony’s limp hand, finally able to grasp it and swim upwards. He yanks Tony’s still body up and Fornell pulls him out. The other FBI agents have dived in to try to recover the body of the killer, but Gibbs and Fornell ignore their activities and examine the downed agent while Bishop calls 9-1-1. The wound in Tony’s belly is bleeding copiously, and the agent has stopped breathing.

McGee reports that an ambulance and a medevac helicopter are on the way, while Gibbs begins mouth to mouth and Fornell pumps Tony’s chest. Tony finally coughs hard, expelling water from his lungs and they turn him over until he is done coughing up water. They lay him back down and Gibbs takes Fornell’s proffered jacket and pushes it against Tony’s belly wound to staunch the bleeding. Even unconscious, Tony spasms in pain at the action. Bishop shrugs out of her oversized NCIS jacket and wraps that around Tony as he begins shivering, lips turning blue.

The agent is completely naked, other than the collar around his neck and cuffs on his wrists, and completely unresponsive. Another agent takes his jacket off and covers Tony’s lower half.

“Bishop, is Tony OK?” McGee keeps shouting over the wire. “Bishop! Talk to me!”

“He’s alive,” Bishop finally reports back. “But those EMTs better make it here soon, McGee. It’s not looking good.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next hour is a blur to Gibbs. He cradles Tony’s too-cold body in his arms and Bishop ruthlessly puts pressure on Tony’s stab wound which continues to bleed profusely. McGee arrives in the surveillance van soon and he takes a long look at Tony’s blue lips and puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder, feeling stupid because he knows Tony is unconscious and has no idea he’s even there, but it makes him feel better to assure himself that Tony is still there and that his friend’s heart is still beating. Then Gibbs catches his eye and jerks his chin. He nods, understanding the order. He gives Tony’s shoulder one last squeeze before he joins Fornell, and they take over the crime scene jointly. 

When the medevac helicopter arrives it is unable to land in the forested area so they strap Tony on a gurney and winch him and Gibbs aboard. Gibbs gives Fornell a baleful glare before the chopper disappears and McGee, Fornell, Bishop and the remaining FBI agents continue to work the crime scene, awaiting Ducky and Palmer’s arrival.

They arrive at the hospital – Bethesda, since Gibbs called Dr Brad Pitt en route. Tony is immediately taken away, swathed in warming blankets, still completely out of it. Even though the EMTs have given Pitt a full report of Tony’s condition, he takes a moment to speak to Gibbs. The agent tells Pitt that Tony has been drugged, stabbed, and raped, then almost drowned in the Potomac, and his knees almost buckle at the words.

Pitt puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Tony’s strong. He’ll pull through.”

He excuses himself to help work on Tony while Gibbs is taken to a waiting room.

At some point, Gibbs finds that Abby is sitting beside him, holding his hand, whispering reassuring words and giving him tight hugs. But his mind is still awhirl, still stuck on several key images. A naked Tony on a metal table, the serial killer balls deep inside him. The knife twisting and Tony’s body reflexively jerking in pain. Tony’s pale face – eerily calm and peaceful – as Gibbs reaches for his hand in the water. Tony’s soft lips, blue again, god he hated that color on Tony, while he performs mouth to mouth. Tony’s face, eyes closed, still looking peaceful despite what he’d been through, swaddled in warming blankets, as he is taken away from the helicopter.

He finds himself holding a steaming cup of coffee and Ducky seated next to him, his quiet voice recounting some story or other, and he finds strength in the comforting and familiar brogue. But the same images keep playing over and over.

“I failed him,” he finally whispers, causing Ducky to stop and look at him.

“Jethro?”

Gibbs looks at his hands – still traces of Tony’s blood on them. “I failed him. I didn’t have his six. I wasn’t there in time. I let him get raped and stabbed by that monster.”

Ducky sighs and adjusts his glasses. “Jethro, you know that’s not true.”

“Yeah? Then why is it that all of us couldn’t get to him in time? He was only supposed to let himself get drugged and we were supposed to bust them before they could hurt anyone else.”

Ducky puts a gentle hand on Gibbs’ shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Jethro, and you know our dear Anthony would be the first to tell you that. McGee told me that Anthony spoke to him to make sure that you stuck to the plan, no matter the cost.”

“We stuck to the plan alright,” Gibbs says bitterly.

“You, of all people, must know that Anthony knew what might happen to him going into this. Didn’t you discuss this?”

Gibbs shrugs.

“Tell me this: before the op, did that young man ask you not to move in until you were sure he was with the killer?”

Gibbs scrubs his face, not denying Ducky’s words. “I let this happen,” he says softly.

“You did not. Your team helped the FBI take down a serial killer who was escalating. Things happened and Anthony was injured during the operation, but he was a key part of how you were able to track down this killer. Do not take that away from him, Jethro.”

Gibbs finally looks up at Ducky’s face, and the elderly Medical Examiner has a stern expression on his face.

“Do not take away Anthony’s valuable contribution in this matter,” he repeats, gentling his tone. “And do not place all the blame on your shoulders, as Anthony himself will try to do that once he is awake.”

“What if he doesn’t make it?”

“He is strong, Jethro. He has beat much worse odds before.”

“It’s different this time. Ducky. I let him get raped,” Gibbs’ voice is raw at the enormity of this. Tony has been through so much already – chained to a serial killer, check. The pneumonic plague, check. Bomb blasts, check. Bullet wounds, check. But this might be the one thing that Tony can’t bounce back from so easily.

“Jethro,” Ducky sighs. “He knew this was a possibility going in. I’m not saying it makes it right, but he had both eyes open going into this op. You must not give in to the impulse to blame yourself. Instead we must focus on helping Anthony heal. We will watch him for signs of post-traumatic stress, and ensure that he is on solid ground. We’ll have to be there for him. Can you do that? Can you put away your guilt long enough to help Anthony?”

Gibbs breathes in, a deep shuddering breath. He nods.

“Good. I’m sure young Dr Pitt will have news for us very soon,” Ducky pats Gibbs’ arm and returns to the story he had been recounting.

At some point he realizes that McGee is trying to get his attention. He looks up.

“Your go bag, Boss,” McGee hands him a bag. “Ducky said there’s a shower over there for you to use. He’ll be back in an hour. Go shower.” McGee also hands him evidence bags for his clothes. “I’m going to need the clothes you’re wearing.”

He nods and steps into the shower. This he can do. He strips and folds everything, neatly slipping them into the evidence bags, including his shoes and socks. He takes a quick shower under water as hot as he can stand it, washing Tony’s dried blood off his hands and body, and then dresses in clothes from his go-bag. Jeans. A hoodie. Sneakers.

He is back in his seat in the waiting room in fifteen minutes, giving McGee the evidence bags and gruffly thanking him.

“Still no news,” McGee tells him, jerking his head towards the double doors, in answer to the question in Gibbs’ eyes.

“Did you get information out of Mason?”

“He’s still sitting in Interrogation. Figured you’d want to be there for that, Boss.”

Gibbs nods. “After I get news about DiNozzo.”

“Of course.”

McGee fidgets in his seat and Gibbs tolerates it for five minutes before he glares at the junior agent. “What?” he demands.

“I-I’m sorry, Gibbs.” A trace of DiNozzo’s stuttering probie returns.

“For?” he frowns.

“I was too slow getting you all the information and the satellite image was blocked by too many trees. I-it’s no excuse. It was m-my fault we weren’t in time and…”

The head slap, swift and sharp, knocks McGee’s head forward and interrupts him.

“Boss?” McGee’s eyes are wide and worried.

“Not your fault,” Gibbs tells him. “Things go wrong in an op like this.”

“B-but…”

“Could you have done anything differently, given the information that we had at the time?” Gibbs asks him.

McGee takes a moment to think before he slowly shakes his head.

“Did you do your best to keep DiNozzo safe, and to bring in this killer?”

McGee thinks some more before he nods.

“Don’t apologize.”

McGee sighs. “But Tony…”

“Didn’t DiNozzo tell you you had to make sure he’d been delivered to the unsub – absolutely certain – before making the bust?”

“Yes, Boss,” McGee says regretfully.

“We had to be sure,” Gibbs says softly. He doesn’t tell McGee that Tony had basically told him to allow him to be raped by the accomplice, if need be, as long as they got to the unsub.

“D’you think Tony will be OK?”

“Tony will pull through. He always does.”

McGee nods and looks down.

“McGee?”

The junior agent looks up.

“He’ll be OK.”

The younger man nods.

“And go get me some real coffee. Two cups of it. None of this hospital swill.”

He gives the older man a slight grin. “On it, Boss.”

Bishop is there, with Ducky, when Tony’s doctors come out to speak to them. Gibbs is still listed as Tony’s next of kin, despite the fact that Senior has been more involved in Tony’s life. Brad Pitt and the surgeon speak to Gibbs and Ducky in private.

“Agent Gibbs, every time you bring him in here, it’s a bit of an event,” Pitt says, smiling. “He’s OK. He’s in recovery and will be moved to the ICU in the next few minutes. You’ll be able to see him then.”

“What’s the damage?” Gibbs asks, barely biting off the ‘this time’ at the tip of his tongue.

Pitt sighs, immediately turning serious. He turns to his colleague. “He’d lost a lot of blood and his core temperature was too low. We were able to raise his core temperature, and Dr Jamison here worked on the abdominal wound. The knife struck his spleen, which was the cause of the excessive bleeding. We had to perform a splenectomy. It also perforated his small intestines. We were able to repair the damage. Luckily, the knife missed his kidney and liver. We ran a rape kit – no fluids were found. I believe the perpetrator used a condom?”

Gibbs nods.

“He’s suffered some anal lacerations and tears, but none so serious as to require stitches.”

“He should make a full recovery,” Dr Jamison adds. “The physical recovery will probably be easier than the psychological recovery.”

“He was roofied,” Gibbs says softly. “Will he remember anything?”

Pitt sighs. “Chances are, his memories will be hazy, if not blank, given the dosage that we found in his bloodstream. But you’ll have to watch him carefully. He might start getting flashbacks, or nightmares reliving something he can’t really remember.”

“We’ll send a counselor to speak to him when he’s ready,” Jamison says.

“I know Tony’s not the kind to want to do talk therapy, but this is very important,” Pitt says gravely. “It would be wrong to just let him cope the way he normally does. He will need to talk about it, acknowledge that it happened, before he can really cope with it and move forward.”

Gibbs nods.

“You should be able to see him soon,” Jamison says as his pager goes off. He excuses himself.

Brad grabs Gibbs’ arm as he turns away.

“What the hell happened?” he asks candidly.

“Op went to hell,” Gibbs says shortly. “DiNozzo was bait.”

Brad nods. “Did you get the guy?”

Gibbs nods curtly.

“He going to stand trial?”

“He’s one of Ducky’s now.”

“And I shall take care to be extra vicious when I cut him open,” Ducky says fiercely.

“Good.” Brad nods grimly.

“He’s going to be OK?” Gibbs asks again.

Pitt nods. “He’s a tough son of a bitch. We all know that. Right now, we’re watching for a few things. There was massive blood loss so we have to keep an eye on that. There’s also danger of a lung collapsing, although we did perform the surgery to repair the damage done via the penetrating stab wound. And anytime anything happens that involves his lungs, you know we have to be extra careful. We’re watching for pneumonia due to the submersion in the Potomac. You did good to get him out quickly and perform CPR on him. But we’re keeping a close eye on it.”

“Is there a risk of infection?” Ducky asks.

Pitt sighs. “The Potomac is hardly sterile, and not only did he breathe the water in, it was in the wound which means yes, it could cause infection. We’ve done all we can for now, and he’s on IV antibiotics, among other things, but we are keeping an eye out for infection as well. Especially since his bowels were perforated.”

“Can we see him?” Gibbs asks, his voice a quiet whisper.

“Come with me.”

Brad Pitt leads them to the ICU where Tony lies in a room. He is hooked up to several machines, attached to a nasal cannula, and a tube runs down his throat. While Ducky looks over his chart, Gibbs goes to the bed, taking in the deathly pale face, lying so still it doesn’t even look like Tony. DiNozzo is always full of life, full of movement, always animated. Not this unnaturally pale and still form. He clasps Tony’s hand in both of his, and sits on the chair for a few minutes. Finally he takes in a deep breath, stands, brushes his fingers gently through Tony’s soft hair, and leans down and whispers something in his ear.

Then he carefully puts Tony’s hand back down, mindful of his IVs and other tubes, and nods to Ducky.

“I have to go back and interrogate Paul Mason,” he says softly. “Will you stay with him?”

“Of course, Jethro. I’ll stay until you get back.” Ducky sits in the chair. “Go on then. Don’t let him get away.”

“I won’t,” he promises grimly. “Senior?” he asks.

“I’ve left him several voicemails,” Ducky says sadly.

Gibbs nods curtly. Senior will come if it suits him to come. Both he and Ducky know that. “Gonna go take Mason down,” he says.

“Good,” the elderly man nods. “With the rohypnol, and then the anesthetics they administered in order to perform the surgery, young Anthony will be out of it for quite a while longer. I doubt that he will have awakened before you return.”

“Take care of him,” Gibbs takes one final long look at the still form on the bed and disappears.

Ducky sighs. “Well, my boy, you do keep us on our toes.” He begins telling Tony a long story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't remember if Senior has moved to DC yet in the beginning of s12. Either way I don't like the character and I didn't want him complicating this story with his false concerns for his son. So there. Ducky called and left voicemails, and Senior has yet to return any of the calls. I've addressed Senior's absence at Tony's bedside. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to s02e22 SWAK, including a quote from the episode.

The first thing that he is aware of is pain. His entire being is suffused with pain. Every breath hurts. Every muscle hurts. Every patch of skin hurts. His head is throbbing with pain. His abdomen is on fire. Maybe even the hair on his head hurt. _Everything_ hurts.

Dimly he hears machines shrieking angrily and he wishes it would be silent as his head hurts and the shrill sound is definitely not helping. He tries to tell it to be quiet but there is something in his throat. That’s when he begins to struggle. He’s been captured, and it’s some kind of torture device, this tube in his mouth, down his throat. He begins coughing and tries to yank the offending tube out but his arms are heavy.

A warm hand on his brow and a quiet voice in his ear.

“DiNozzo,” says the voice. He knows it. The voice is low and rumbly, soft and soothing, and makes him think of coffee, warm blankets and home. It makes him feel safe. “Shhh. Calm down. I’ve got you. You’re in the hospital. They’re going to take the tube out.”

He stops struggling, breathing hard, every breath a struggle. He weakly scrabbles at the tube with one hand and then his hand is captured and held, and the hand on his brow begins gently carding through his hair.

“Shhh,” comes the voice again. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. It’s OK. I’ve got you.”

His breathing gradually slows down and he stops struggling, and as the fingers keep moving soothingly through his hair, he acknowledges the pain, and without even opening his eyes, lets the darkness take him again. The voice will keep him safe. He trusts the voice.

After they have removed the tube from the now unconscious Tony’s throat, Brad Pitt speaks quietly with Gibbs for a moment before he places a comforting hand on his shoulder, pats Tony’s hand briefly and walks out. He overhears the nurses speaking at their station.

“All he did was shush him and pet him and he stopped struggling.”

“…didn’t even open his eyes….”

“…went right back to sleep…”

“…complete trust…”

“…amazing and touching…”

“Is it true he had the pneumonic plague?”

“…and he _ordered_ him to live??”

“…both _so_ good looking…”

“…shame neither are available…”

Brad smiles to himself at this last bit. Tony and Gibbs. Gibbs and Tony. Tony had made a huge impression on him, coming in with the pneumonic plague. It had not been pretty and Tony’s decline into the disease had been dramatic, one minute sniping and joking with his co-worker Kate, the next coughing up blood and mucus and drowning in the fluid in his own lungs. He’d tried to reassure Kate and preserve the illusion that he was fine, even as he was literally coughing up a lung and dying in a most unpleasant and painful manner, but it was clear that at one point Tony had given up and had been ready to let death take him, if only so he would be able to rest. But Gibbs had swooped in, tapped him on the head, and had told him not to die. Brad would never forget the moment or the words, or the tone of voice Gibbs had used.

_“You will not die.”_

And DiNozzo’s panted and hoarse acknowledgement of the order.

At the time, he had thought that Gibbs was overbearing and ridiculous. But damned if DiNozzo hadn’t obeyed him, and started fighting again, refusing to die, refusing to disobey his orders. And Gibbs had given him his cell phone and let that be his lifeline. Now, almost a decade later, Gibbs is still so strong an influence over the younger man that he could be calmed with a touch and a soft whisper, coming out of a drug-induced prolonged state of unconsciousness.

The doctor shakes his head at the two men. They were connected, no question. Sometimes he wondered at the kind of connection that they had. And even though Tony was quite the ladies’ man, he still wondered at the nature of their relationship. Maybe the nurses had the right idea. Gibbs was always so possessive and protective of the man, although once he was on his feet Gibbs backed off and returned to his curmudgeonly ways.

Regardless, now that the case has been settled and Gibbs is at Tony’s bedside, there is no doubt that the younger man would be well taken care of in every way possible. That had been how Gibbs behaved after the plague. But it isn’t one sided. This is how they are with each other. Doctors all over DC had had to regretfully allow one of these two men, their patient, to leave AMA, as long as their partner was there to care for them. Neither man did well recovering in the hospital. Brad knew that firsthand.

Tony would probably be out a few more hours. He would return to check on his patient then.

The next time he starts swimming out of the darkness, the beeping monitors filter into his consciousness first, and then the sterile yet sickly smell that was unique to hospitals.

Hospital then, he thinks. Without opening his eyes, his tired brain begins cataloguing his hurts – all bearable at this point in time. He must have made a sound or a movement because immediately, he feels strong fingers running through his hair. He leans into the caress without conscious thought. He’s always craved having those fingers on him and they feel very, very good.

“DiNozzo,” the voice says softly in his ear. “Tony?”

“Mmm,” he tries to respond.

“Open your eyes, Tony. Come on,” the voice encourages him. His brain begins identifying the person – the voice, gruff and growly, but yet familiar and soothing. He smells coffee and sawdust. Images of clear blue eyes flash through his brain.

His lips crook up in a tiny smile. “Boss?” he rasps. He feels his bed being raised, sitting him up a little and a straw poking at his lips.

“Drink,” Gibbs’ voice orders him gently.

Obediently, Tony sucks from the straw, taking small sips. Cool liquid going down his throat makes him realize how very thirsty he is and he sucks greedily.

“Hey,” the straw is pulled away. “Slow down. Small sips.”

Tony growls an objection but when the straw is placed against his lips, he takes small sips again. Gibbs lets him drink his fill before taking the cup away.

“You gonna open your eyes, DiNozzo?” Gibbs asks, in that tone that makes Tony think he is concerned but slightly amused.

“No?” he answers, his voice husky but not scratchy and raspy now that he has wet his throat.

Fingers return to his hair, gently pushing it off his forehead and then resuming carding through it. He moans sleepily and sighs, settling down.

“Don’t go back to sleep, Tony,” Gibbs tells him. “I just paged Brad. He wants to talk to you first before you can go back to sleep.”

Tony frowns, pouting. “Concussion?” he asks. “Hazy. Was I…clubbing? On a school night?”

“You remember the op, DiNozzo?” Gibbs sounds concerned. “Joint op with the FBI. Fornell came.”

“Right. My lookalikes being murdered,” the case information floods back into Tony’s mind.

“Yeah.”

“I’m guessing he took me?”

Gibbs sighs, fingers stilling in Tony’s hair. “Yeah.”

“You got him?”

“Yup,” Gibbs says fiercely.

Tony struggles and finally forces his eyes open halfway. The room is mostly dark. “Time is it?”

Gibbs looks at his watch. “Oh-three hundred,” he answers.

“You get the accomplice too? There was an accomplice, right?”

“We got him, too.”

Tony sighs. “Good. So it’s done?”

“It’s done.”

He yawns and smiles faintly. “Good, cause I’m way too old to be clubbing every night. Even if the FBI was footing the bill for my debauchery.”

Gibbs takes his hand in both of his and stares at him.

“What’s wrong then?” Tony says, now guarded. “The plan was the accomplice was to drug me, and take me, and then the unsub gets me, and you guys get both the unsub and the accomplice. Why are you giving me that look? Did that not happen?”

“We got them,” Gibbs frowns, unconsciously rubbing Tony’s hand in between his. “But we had to wait to be sure he was the unsub.”

“Yeah? That was the plan.”

“When we got confirmation, and went in, he’d stabbed you here,” he carefully touches Tony’s abdomen, ow ow ow, Tony tries not to wince, “and…” Gibbs can’t bring himself to say the words. He pauses, staring at his old friend.

“Uhm, you’re scaring me now, Boss,” Tony wildly checks to make sure he has all his limbs and he flexes and wiggles them to ensure that he isn’t paralyzed. “OK. I seem to be pretty intact. Everything’s still there and moving.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Gibbs sighs again, and rubs his stubble-roughened cheek on the back of Tony’s hand. “He was raping you,” he finally manages to say. “God, Tony. We were too late. I’m so fucking sorry. We were too late.”

Tony stares at him for a moment, taken aback by the sight of Gibbs rubbing his face so tenderly on his hand, and Gibbs’ apology, that he almost doesn’t understand what Gibbs is saying.

He’d been raped.

But he doesn’t remember any of it, does he? He tries to recall, but things get hazy at some point in the club and he really can’t remember anything past dancing and making out with guys.

“Did he use protection?” he finally asks.

Gibbs nods, clearing his throat and pulling his face away from Tony’s hand. “He did.”

“How badly am I injured?”

“Brad’ll tell you the details.”

“Give me the cliff notes.”

“Lost your spleen, they had to fix your intestines, and watch for collapsed lung. Watched for pneumonia too – you got dunked in the Potomac. And for infection.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Fourth night tonight.”

“What?” Tony stares at Gibbs. “Well, shit. I miss the interrogations? Case is all buttoned up?”

“Yup.”

Tony frowns. “Well, I’m sure Slacks’ll be happy to point out my penchant for sleeping on the job.”

“DiNozzo…”

Tony smiles and sighs tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. Gibbs still hasn’t released his hand and there is no way he is going to voluntarily lose that contact at this point. “What does the DA say about the unsub’s chances?”

“He’s one of Ducky’s.”

Tony looks up underneath his eyelashes, and his smile widens. “Good. Hey, Boss, did you make McGee do my paperwork?”

Gibbs grins at him. “Didn’t have to. He did most of it already. Just need you to review and sign off.”

“No way!”

Gibbs shrugs.

“Guess getting raped is good for something.”

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs sighs. “Don’t minimize it.”

“I don’t remember it,” Tony says, eyes serious now. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to feel about it. When I don’t even remember it.”

“Doctors say you might get flashbacks. And nightmares.”

Tony shrugs. “Then I deal with it when that happens.”

“They think you should talk to someone.”

“They always think that I should talk to someone.”

Gibbs sighs.

“Boss?”

Gibbs looks up, meeting Tony’s green eyes, bloodshot and sleepy but serious. “Maybe _you_ should talk to someone,” Tony suggests softly. “Haven’t seen you this freaked out in a long time.”

Gibbs closes his eyes, unconsciously nuzzling Tony’s hand.

“I might not remember it, but you sure do,” Tony says softly.

Gibbs shudders, the image of Paul Jansen thrusting into Tony’s body flashing through his mind. “Can’t get it out of my head. We were too late.”

“Hey,” Tony carefully opens the hand that Gibbs is nuzzling and turns it, placing it gently on Gibbs’ stubbled cheek. “This isn’t your fault. The op went south. That happens, we both know that.”

Gibbs grunts, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Look at me,” the soft voice continues.

Unable to resist, Gibbs turns his blue eyes upwards, meeting Tony’s green gaze.

“I’m OK. No permanent damage.”

“Won’t regrow a spleen.”

“Not gonna miss it,” Tony shakes his head.

“I was too late, Tony. I failed you.”

“I’m OK. Gibbs…” Tony breaks away, looking up when Brad Pitt walks in, interrupting them. He breaks into a smile. “Smelled your stinky Wolverine ass even before I woke up, Pitt.”

“DiNozzo,” Brad smiles back, and watches as Gibbs carefully moves away from Tony’s hand on his face, and releases his hold of the younger man’s hand. He also sees Tony’s face falling, the expression of disappointment barely discernible at the cessation of contact between them. “Heard you were finally up, Buckeye.”

Tony shrugs. “Wanted to make sure I would get to skip most of the paperwork for the case,” he says easily.

“Good to hear your voice again, Buckeye. You had us all worried.”

“I’m OK,” he says, although Brad can hear the echoes of pain in his voice, and the frown lines on his forehead, signaling that he is still tired and in pain.

“Let’s get this over with quickly and then we can fix you up with some pain meds.”

Tony makes a face. “You know I get crazy loopy on pain meds.”

“We’ll try to figure out something that’ll work for you. Even if you get loopy, there’s no need for you to be in this much pain.”

Tony doesn’t bother denying it. Pitt has treated him enough times now to know his issues with pain meds and penchant for hiding being in pain. Gibbs glares at him and Tony can practically hear him growling angrily about him not mentioning anything about being in pain. The younger man sighs and puts a hand on Gibbs’ wrist, calming him.

“I’m OK,” he says quietly.

Gibbs gives him a disbelieving look.

“I’d roll my eyes, but my head does kind of hurt,” Tony says wryly.

“Let’s get this going then. Agent Gibbs, I assume you’ll be sitting in through this?” Brad asks.

Gibbs gives him a look that makes him grin.

“Right, I don’t know why I even asked that question,” he continues. He turns the light on, causing Tony to wince and squint, his headache getting worse. He starts examining Tony and speaking to him, asking questions, probing Tony’s hazy memories as he checks on the physical wounds. Gibbs walks to the door, back turned, while Pitt checks the anal lacerations, carefully asking questions about what Tony could recall.

“Honestly, I don’t – fuck that’s cold, Wolverine, warm that puppy up a little next time, huh – “ Tony breaks off his answer to gasp and whine as Pitt applies more antibiotic to his wounds. “And as much as I like you – fuck – you’re really not my type.”

“You’re telling me about that night, Buckeye,” Pitt reminds him softly.

“Maybe we can talk about it after you get your finger out of my ass, huh?” Tony snaps.

“Sorry,” Pitt says soothingly. “There. All done. Just a little tearing that’s healing up nicely.” He strips his gloves off, disposes of them, and replaces them with a fresh pair.

“Great. Not that I don’t enjoy being felt up, and you’re certainly good looking enough in an all-American kind of way, but I’m glad that’s over,” Tony mumbles, sighing, starting to feel floaty. “Oh, that’s nice. What did you put in my IV?”

“Something to help with the pain,” Pitt says.

“Mmm,” Tony smiles, settling back. “Did Gibbs leave?”

“Right here, DiNozzo,” Gibbs says, returning to his bedside and settling back in his chair.

“You don’t remember any of it?” Pitt probes again.

“For the last time, I don’t remember jack,” Tony snaps. “I remember dancing. A fucking awesome blow job in the men’s room. God. Women have no clue how to do it right sometimes,” he says dreamily. “Although I have had some spectacular blow jobs given by women. Hmm what was her name? With the um, with the… umm, what were we talking about?”

“Here we go,” Gibbs grins at the doctor. “He’s getting all loopy.”

“Then what happened?” Pitt asks, grinning back at the older agent.

“What happened when?” Tony is getting so floaty that it is hard to keep track of the conversation.

“The night of the op. The night you were taken.”

Tony thinks for a moment. “M-more dancing? Lights blurring. Mmm pretty lights… I think there was a guy? Danced with him. More blurry things. Then I think I remember a van. No handcuffs,” he protests, eyes half closed. “No cuffs. No cuffs. I hate the goddamned cuffs. Don’t cuff me.”

“Shhh, nobody’s gonna cuff you now Tony,” Gibbs whispers in his ear, one hand in his hair again.

Pitt gives Gibbs a questioning look, and he shrugs, not knowing the answer. He didn’t know Tony had a thing about not being cuffed until Mason had him cuffed and shackled to the floor of the van and he freaked out. He sure as hell had no idea why Tony had that issue.

“Why don’t you like to be cuffed?” Pitt asks curiously.

“Bad things,” Tony shudders. “Don’t make me think of it. I hate them. Don’t cuff me. Please…”

“No cuffs,” Gibbs agrees softly.

“’Kay,” Tony mumbles, eyes blinking slowly. “I hate being cuffed. You can tie me up if you like. That’s kinky. But no cuffs. Not even the stupid pink fuzzy kind. Unless I’m cuffing you. Okay, Boss?”

“Got that memo, DiNozzo,” Gibbs says, his tone gentle, although he is unable to stop his mind from going to the image of a naked Tony bound and immobilized with rope, legs splayed open, feet tied to bedposts, cock hard and leaking, and panting with desire. He shakes his head, forcing the image away.

“You remember anything else?” Brad asks, trying not to grin at his own mental image of Tony cuffing Gibbs with pink fuzzy cuffs.

“Fuzzy,” Tony mumbles, and Gibbs doesn’t know whether he means the memories are fuzzy or that he was fuzzy right now because of the pain meds. “S’all fuzzy. Did I give someone a blow job? Songbird can’t do anything. He’s all blurry and fuzzy. Then…hospital? Gibbs. Safe.”

“OK, DiNozzo,” Gibbs says, keeping his tone gentle.

“Don’t remember being raped at all,” Tony sounds sleepy and disgruntled. “No clue how to feel about that. Figure I should be upset or something. But I don’t remember it.”

“S’OK,” Gibbs says, hand in Tony’s hair, smoothing it off his forehead and carding gently through it.

“Mmm,” Tony hums contentedly. “You’ve got nice fingers, Boss. Fingers finging. Maybe I can be your boat and you can sand me down with your f-f-finging f-fingers?”

“Shhh,” Gibbs whispers.

Brad strips off his gloves, tosses them, turns the lights off, and nods a silent goodbye to Gibbs who nods back, immediately turning his attention back to his downed agent. Brad watches as Gibbs leans down, whispers something in Tony’s ear which makes the younger man’s lips quirk up, fingers still running through his hair, and as Brad closes the door, he sees Gibbs press a kiss to the younger man’s temple.

He smiles to himself. Maybe the nurses have the right of it with Gibbs and DiNozzo after all.


	9. Chapter 9

In the morning, while Tony picks at his truly awful breakfast – he is on a clear liquid diet – of broth and Pedialyte, Gibbs hands him back his creds. He smiles and thanks Gibbs, unable to stop himself from flipping it open, touching the badge reverently and flicking a glance at his picture and name. It is their ceremonious end to the op. Tony is no longer DeAngelis, but is back to being DiNozzo. Despite his disgusting breakfast, Tony is all smiles after that.

Not long after breakfast, he gives his statement to Fornell. McGee and Gibbs sit with him in the room. He remembers even less in the light of day. McGee keeps staring at him, amazed that Tony sounds like, well, Tony. He cracks wise, and jokes about the things he can’t recall. He shrugs off the rape. And he smiles, openly and genuinely at McGee, which makes him feel terrible.

After Tony is done giving his statement, he asks Gibbs and Fornell for a minute alone with McGee. In answer to Gibbs’ inquiring look, Tony puts a hand on Gibbs’ wrist, giving him a concerned look at McGee. Gibbs nods and tells Fornell to buy him a real cup of coffee as he steers the other man out of the room.

McGee stands at the foot of Tony’s bed, looking distraught.

“Probie,” Tony says gently.

McGee stares at Tony, wide eyed and panicked.

“C’mere,” Tony beckons to him and points to Gibbs’ chair. “Be Gibbs’ bench warmer. Sit there so Gibbs won’t have to sit in a cold chair when he comes back. He hates getting his ass cold.”

McGee makes a face but obeys, sitting down gingerly, at the edge of the chair.

“You wanna tell me what the problem is?” Tony asks him.

“W-what d’you m-mean?”

Tony rolls his eyes, despite the fact that he knows that that will exacerbate his headache. “Shit, you haven’t sounded like my stuttering Probie in a long time. What the fuck is going on?”

McGee stares, mouth opening and closing without sound, before he buries his face in his hands.

“McGee?” Tony sits up, groaning as the movement pulls the stitches in his abdomen. “Hey. Timothy. Talk to me.”

“God, Tony… I am so, so s-sorry,” McGee bursts out, practically wailing. “I didn’t get help to you soon enough. I-I didn’t get c-confirmation q-quickly enough. And look what happened to you!”

Tony puts a gentle hand on McGee’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says reassuringly.

“You are not fine, Tony! You’re in the hospital. You’ve had surgery. You fell in the fucking Potomac, and we all know how bad that could’ve been for your lungs! And you were – you were…”

“Probie…”

“He _raped_ you, Tony!” McGee’s eyes fill with angry tears. “It’s my fucking fault! I was in the van trying to get everyone to you, trying to get all the information I could get, and he still raped you!”

“Hey!” Tony snaps, making McGee look up sharply. “It’s not your fault. It’s the bad guy’s fault. I still barely even know his name. I don’t remember him at all. But I’m going to walk out of this hospital tomorrow, and go back to my job, and we’re going to carry on the way we always do.”

“B-but…”

“But nothing,” Tony says fiercely. “Don’t treat me like a victim. You don’t think everyone at the Yard isn’t going to look at me like I’m going to fall apart as soon as someone flirts with me? Or wonder if I can do my job, and watch your sixes, because I’m now a fucking _victim_? There’ll be more than enough of that from enough people. I don’t need that from you, McGee.”

“N-nobody but the team on the op knows everything that happened to you,” McGee whispers. “Not even the FBI will say anything. Gibbs made sure that no one is going to look at you funny, cause they don’t know.”

Tony sighs. “Of course he did,” he shakes his head.

“And I know you’ll still have my six, and still be the best person on it. I have no doubts about that,” McGee says firmly. “I’m just…I’m just sorry, OK?”

“Well, McMeaCulpa – I don’t blame you. You have nothing to apologize for, and I’m going to say it again for the millionth time, I don’t remember anything that happened.”

“W-what if you have flashbacks? Or n-nightmares? Pitt said it could happen.”

“Then I’ll get help. I will,” Tony insists. “I already promised Gibbs I’d tell him if I even think I’m getting a flashback.”

“Really?”

Tony shrugs. “He took the blame for everything too. I’m waiting for Fornell to start in on the apologies next. Maybe Bishop? I don’t know how many of you are going to feel like this. Well, maybe not Slacks.”

“Shit, Tony. We all failed you.”

“No, you didn’t. I’m alive, and relatively unharmed. You saw the other vics. I’m nowhere close to being them,” Tony says almost sternly. “I put my life in all of your hands because I trusted you to get me out alive, and get the bad guys. And you all did that.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive myself, Tony.”

“Gonna have to,” Tony says quietly. “Cause if you keep looking at me like I’m going to break, I swear to god I’m going to break both of your pinkies and then how are you going to type on your typewriter, with your fingers in splints?”

McGee snorts. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to break my fingers.”

“Don’t try me, McGee.”

McGee smiles at him. “I got you Tony,” he says quietly.

“Good,” the senior field agent smiles back before he slumps back against his pillows, paling slightly. “Can you get Gibbs back in here? I think maybe I need a nap or something.” Pain colors his voice.

“I’ll get a nurse, too,” McGee says, putting a hand on Tony’s hand, and helping to lower the bed a little, pressing the call button. “I’m glad you’re better, Tony.”

“I’m good,” Tony assures him.

Without being summoned, the door opens and Gibbs strides in.

“Everything OK in here?” he growls.

“S’all good,” Tony says, grinning slightly.

“We might’ve worn him out,” McGee tells his boss, watching as the older man crosses over to the bed and resumes sitting in his chair, one hand holding a fresh cup of coffee.

“Nurse is coming with some pain meds, DiNozzo,” Gibbs tells him.

“’Kay,” Tony says. “’S too bright,” he complains.

Gibbs reaches across Tony’s body and turns the lamp off and gestures at McGee to draw the blinds.

“Head hurt?” he asks quietly.

“Mmm-hmm,” Tony sighs as Gibbs’ fingers go back into his hair, pushing it off his forehead and gently running his fingers through his hair again.

After McGee has helped darkened the room, he watches as Tony turns his face towards Gibbs’ hand, leaning into his fingers, and after the nurse has given him more pain meds, he watches as Gibbs strokes him gently until he falls asleep, face still turned towards the older man, lips quirked up in an almost smile.

Idly he wonders, if he were in the hospital bed and not Tony, would Gibbs be petting him to sleep? And for some reason he doesn’t believe that that would be true. Delilah would be there, for one, and if anyone were to pet him, it would probably be Delilah. Which really drives the point home that Gibbs and Tony have a completely different relationship than he and Gibbs do. And despite the headslaps and the growls and reprimands that Tony regularly garners, McGee is slowly realizing that Gibbs and Tony have a whole other relationship outside of work as well. He wonders how often Tony and Gibbs have dinner together, without the rest of the team, or if they actually hang out. Maybe they even talked to each other about real things. Things that Tony hid from the world, since Tony hid just about everything from everyone.

But he doesn’t know. All he knows is that Tony asks for Gibbs when he is in the hospital, and the older man never begrudges sitting by the man’s bedside, as long as is needed. And when the roles were reversed and Gibbs is the one in the hospital bed, Tony is the one who sits with him through everything.

In part, McGee knows that they would give the same support to every teammate. But he also knows that neither man has family to speak of, so they have provided extra support for each other for many years. And if anyone asked him who knew Gibbs the best, his answer would have immediately been Tony. And vice versa.

When Gibbs is satisfied that Tony is deeply asleep, he stands and gestures to McGee to step outside of Tony’s room. They chat for a moment, Gibbs reassuring McGee that Tony is OK, and then they talk about what Fornell’s team has found in the boat house and at the rest of the Mason farm. They have found keepsakes from each of the victims, going back years and years. They have also found a laptop with several different email accounts, including simon$ays69 and others linked to the other victims. Peter Jansen, the unsub, was Paul Mason’s first cousin and had been using the farm as his base of operations for years. Jansen and the very first vic, Eric Seydel, had gone to high school together, and for some reason Jansen had fixated on the man. Enough to keep finding people who looked and acted like Seydel in order to assault and rape them. The boat house was where he’d killed and rigorously cleaned his victims, then simply pushed them into the Potomac directly from it, which was why there was an absence of trace evidence from transporting the bodies to the river after the cleansing.

Everything looks cut and dried. Gibbs asks McGee to double check all family members, friends and known associates of both men, in case there are other accomplices. Before McGee leaves, he brings Gibbs a fresh cup of good coffee, and gets a grin and a nod.

After work, Abby, McGee and Bishop knock quietly on Tony’s door and when they enter, they see that Tony is asleep and Gibbs is sitting on the side of Tony’s bed, clicking on the remote, surfing through the tv channels. He turns and smiles at the visitors, standing up and carefully pulling the railing up on the side of Tony’s bed.

Abby throws herself into Gibbs’ arms, hugging him tightly before she turns to stare at the sleeping form.

“Is he OK?” she whispers.

“He’s OK, Abby,” Gibbs tells her, kissing her temple. “Had a big afternoon. He walked a few laps around the floor, and you know him – he stopped and talked to everyone.”

“I bet he cheered a bunch of people up on this floor,” Abby said softly.

“Yeah,” Gibbs says, in that tone that means he’s amused without smiling. “But he wore himself out doing that. He just fell asleep after he flirted his way through the sponge bath.”

“Was the nurse pretty?” McGee asks.

“Pretty enough,” Gibbs snorted. “ _He_ was way too young for Tony,” he rolls his eyes.

“Way to go, Tony. Way to not let what happened get you down,” Abby tells the sleeping figure softly.

Bishop hands Gibbs a cup of coffee and they bring a few more chairs in to accommodate them all, settling down to chat quietly. About a half hour into their visit, Tony begins twitching slightly in his sleep. He begins muttering, eyes closed, stuck in what looked to be an unpleasant dream, frown creasing his brow.

Gibbs goes back to the bed and takes Tony’s hand, thumb rubbing the back of his hand soothingly. “Shhh,” he whispers in Tony’s ear.

Tony frowns in his sleep, and begins to breathe hard, eyeballs moving crazily underneath his closed eyelids.

Gibbs puts a hand on Tony’s forehead, pushing his hair back and gently running his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Wake up, Tony,” Gibbs says softly.

Tony turns his face to Gibbs and leans into the fingers, but begins whimpering in his sleep.

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs says, tapping the top of his head in a gentle echo of a headslap.

Tony’s eyes open and he sits up, chest heaving and sweat beading his forehead.

“Tony,” Gibbs calls his name, and he turns to look at Gibbs, eyes still a little wild.

“Yeah, Boss?” he answers, his tone surprisingly mild.

“You with me?”

“Yeah, Boss,” he nods before he looks around and groans, realizing he is still in the hospital. “When are you springing me out of here, Boss?” he whines.

“Pitt said maybe tomorrow,” Gibbs tells him, his tone gentle.

“Fuck,” Tony pouts, making Gibbs want to poke at the lower lip that has been so attractively stuck out. Or kiss it and suck it into his mouth. But he refrains. “I want to go home,” Tony whines.

“You have visitors, DiNozzo.”

Tony finally looks around and sees his friends, and breaks into a huge smile. “Hey,” he greets them, his smile genuine.

“Brought you stuff,” Abby tells him after she climbs on the bed and gives him a hug, careful of the tubes still running from his body into various machines.

“What did you bring me?” Tony’s face lights up, eyes bright and happy now. Gibbs sits in a chair at the far wall, watching as Tony laughs and jokes with his teammates.

Abby has brought him Bert the farting hippo to keep him company. McGee has both his and Gibbs’ go bags and Tony shoos Gibbs into his attached bathroom to take a shower.

“OK, Probie, help me get dressed and sneak me outta here?” he says brightly.

“Umm, no?” McGee grins. “I don’t want to get in trouble sneaking you out while Gibbs showers.”

“Aww,” Tony pouts again.

“I was going to bring you a donut,” Bishop tells him. “But Ducky says you can’t have real solids yet because of the surgery.”

Tony’s face falls. The down side to bowel surgery was that he had a lot of dietary restrictions, and if he indulged, the consequences were apparently not pretty. “Yeah. That damned wolverine gave me a huge lecture on what I can and can’t eat now, and for the next four to six weeks.”

“But I checked with Ducky and he said applesauce was OK, so I brought you some.” She puts a small container on Tony’s table.

“You brought me _applesauce_?” Tony wrinkles his nose.

“This is home made applesauce, my mee-maw’s recipe,” Bishop tells him. “And when you’ve graduated to eating solids, you can eat that with saltines. It’s what I always asked for when I was sick. Screw chicken noodle soup!”

Tony gives her a look. “This had better be some fucking awesome applesauce,” he warns her. “I’ve had a bunch of salty broths that taste like ass, and Pedialyte – like I’m a fucking baby – and the applesauce they brought me at lunch was, I gotta tell ya, just awful. And I’m starving. I could’ve done with a donut.”

Bishop pulls a plastic spoon out of her purse and hands it to him with a flourish. “Give this a try. I even checked with Ducky to make sure I wasn’t putting anything in this applesauce that you can’t have.”

Tony grunts and rolls his eyes, but he opens the container and sticks the spoon in. He sniffs it experimentally. “Smells promising,” he says, one eyebrow raised. He takes a small bite and moans appreciatively. “Bishop,” he grins at her, “this is really good.” He takes another bite.

Bishop grins happily, glad that her little gesture has gone over so well.

When Gibbs comes out of the bathroom, dressed in fresh clothes and scrubbed clean, Tony has eaten about half of the small container of apple sauce. Tony is still in a good mood, joking and laughing.

“Need the head?” Gibbs asks him. Because of the surgery, Tony has had to use the head fairly constantly.

Tony makes a face.

“Let’s go then.”

Gibbs puts the bed railing down and helps Tony swing his legs off the bed and stand upright, supporting him until he pulls away. Muttering to himself, Tony limps slowly into the bathroom, dragging his IV pole, and another machine that is still attached to him, completely uncaring that his bare ass is hanging out. When McGee tries to help him walk, Tony glares at him so fiercely that the junior agent shrinks back.

Gibbs snickers a little at the interaction, glad that Tony isn’t just glaring at him for trying to help.

Hearing the laugh, Tony turns his head and glares at Gibbs who grins easily at him.

“I put your go bag in there in case you wanted to put some underwear on or something,” Gibbs suggests. “Maybe that’ll stop Mrs Harris from two doors down from pinching your ass every time you walk by.”

Tony gives his ass a wiggle and groans as that pulls at his stitches but he doesn’t answer as he retreats to the bathroom.

“Mrs Harris?” Abby asks Gibbs.

His blue eyes flash in amusement and he snorts with laughter. “She’s ninety two and she goosed him good when he stopped by to talk to her,” he shakes his head. “First time it happened, he about jumped out of his skin.”

“ _First_ time it happened?” McGee asks. “How many times did it happen?”

“At least three times.”

When Tony returns, wearing boxers under his hospital gown, Abby and Bishop giggle.

“None of that,” he tells them sternly. “Mrs Harris is somebody’s great grandmother.”

“She still knows a sexy ass when she sees it though,” Abby giggles.

Gibbs helps him back onto the bed and his dinner is delivered. Chicken broth and applesauce. Even though he pouts, Gibbs orders him to eat and he manages to down some of the broth, complaining the whole time. He eats a few more bites of Bishop’s applesauce, completely disdaining the hospital’s version, before he pushes his food away. Despite being hungry, eating is actually making him feel sick, but he has to snack constantly or it will upset his equilibrium.

Gibbs watches, seeing the lines of pain appear at the corner of his mouth and eyes. Tony is still joking and laughing but no longer sitting up, instead he is leaning against his pillows. However Tony has been bored and antsy, and itching to leave, so he doesn’t want to cut the team’s visit short, even if Tony is tired.

Vance drops by for a few minutes, and several of the FBI team members also look in on Tony, including a couple of his fellow bait, but they do not stay long, seeing that Tony’s energy is flagging. 

Ducky and Palmer join them shortly after that, and Tony rallies, sitting up again and doubling his efforts to enjoy his visitors. But even Abby can see that Tony is yawning almost non-stop and his eyelids are drooping. They make their excuses. Abby climbs on the bed and hugs him again, and kisses his cheek, leaving a perfect SWAK which she then rubs off with her fingers. Bishop kisses his cheek gently, and McGee grins and gives him an awkward hug. Ducky squeezes his hand and pats his shoulder, and Palmer does the same.

Tony is half asleep before they even make it to the door.

“Boss?” Tony’s voice is soft, and he sounds half drunk.

“I’m here.” Gibbs moves back to his spot and takes Tony’s hand.

“’Kay,” he sighs, eyes closing.

As the door closes behind them, Abby sneaks a last look and sees Gibbs running his fingers through Tony’s hair and the younger man turning towards him, smiling sleepily, Bert held tightly against his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So according to the internet, after bowel surgery (colectomy) there are dietary restrictions because you know, your digestive tracts have been at least partially cut out. Clear liquids for a couple of days, followed by the addition of soft foods. Since Tony's surgery was a few days prior to this, he's allowed soft foods (like applesauce). But it's all supposed to be mild and nothing fibre filled for a while. And then for 4-6 weeks after surgery there's still a fairly strict diet to follow so Tony won't be going back to junk food for a while ;)
> 
> Of course I must also stress again that I am not a medical professional and all my information comes from the internet. :D


	10. Chapter 10

Gibbs springs up in his chair, where he had been sleeping, chin on his chest, watching over DiNozzo. Heart pounding, hand reaching for his weapon, he looks around the room, trying to ascertain the threat. Then the noise comes again. DiNozzo is whimpering in his sleep. After Gibbs makes sure that they are alone in the room and no other threats are near, he leans over the bed, taking Tony’s hand and brushing his fingers through the hair at Tony’s sweaty forehead.

He leans close, shushing the younger man gently, hoping to be able to soothe away the nightmare without having to wake him. The dream seems to escalate, and he begins gasping and whimpering, beginning to thrash his head from side to side.

Gibbs taps the top of his head, “DiNozzo.”

The whimpering and thrashing continue.

Gibbs repeats it, harder and louder this time. “DiNozzo!”

Tony sits up with a strangled cry, wild eyes blinking as he takes in the darkened room and feels Gibbs hand holding his, the other in his hair.

“Breathe,” Gibbs tells him gently.

He blows out a panted exhale, suddenly realizing that he had been holding his breath. Gibbs fingers continue to stroke his hair soothingly, until he stops gasping for breath and his heart rate slows.

“Wh- ‘appened?” Tony asks, his words slurred.

“Bad dreams,” Gibbs says succinctly.

The younger man turns his hand over and grips Gibbs’ hand – the one that is holding his – tightly as he draws his knees up and wraps his other arm around it, Bert trapped in between his body, ignoring the pain in his side from his stitches, curled up almost into the fetal position, holding Gibbs’ hand as if it is a lifeline. Without thinking about it, Gibbs puts his arm around the man, holding him close, saying soft, soothing words, his hand captured in a vise grip.

Finally Tony sighs and releases Gibbs’ hand, although he continues to lean into Gibbs’ embrace.

“You OK?” Gibbs asks.

Tony nods, sighing. “Yeah.”

“That must’ve been a doozy.”

Tony shrugs and sighs. “No more than usual.”

“You sure?” Gibbs asks carefully.

The younger man looks up sharply, understanding the real question. “Nope. Still not a flashback or a nightmare about the getting raped thing,” he grits out. “The usual garden variety nightmare about Kate dying and McGee dying and you dying on that rooftop.”

Gibbs’ arm tightens around him, hand buried in the soft hairs at the back of his head, the site of countless head slaps.

“OK,” Gibbs says.

Tony sighs and puts an arm around Gibbs shoulder, a little awkwardly. “I’m OK.”

“You’d tell me if you had a nightmare about…”

“Told you I would, Boss,” Tony interrupts him.

Gibbs nods, sighing, not relinquishing his hold on Tony, his hand moving from the back of Tony’s head to the back of his neck, and lower and lower, following his spine, rubbing gentle circles on Tony’s back, all the way down to the small of his back.

“Boss?” Tony practically moans, and shivers go down Gibbs’ spine, hearing it.

Gibbs grunts a reply, hand still massaging Tony’s lower back, on his bare skin, through the opening in the hospital gown.

“Sure _you’re_ OK?” Tony manages to ask, leaning almost bonelessly into Gibbs’ chest, barely suppressing the appreciative moan as Gibbs’ fingers dig into a knot and rub it away. “This isn’t like you.”

“I don’t know,” Gibbs admits.

Tony looks up and Gibbs’ face is right there, an inch from his. “W-what? What’s wrong?”

Unable to look away from the wide green eyes, Gibbs stares into his face wordlessly.

“Almost lost you,” Gibbs says hoarsely.

Tony smiles. “But you didn’t. Not even the first close call,” he says reassuringly.

Gibbs sighs and places trembling fingers on Tony’s cheek. “Too damned close,” he says.

“I’ll be back at work in no time,” Tony says, eyes still wide with shock, unused to being the comforter, not for Gibbs who refuses comfort from anyone. And he is distracted, trying to ignore the heat of Gibbs’ fingers on the small of his back, so close to his ass, and Gibbs’ other hand on his face. He could just turn his head a little and kiss that calloused palm, but this is Gibbs and Gibbs isn’t into him, and he doesn’t want to be punched in the face for taking liberties. So he resists the impulse.

“I know,” Gibbs says, still staring into Tony’s face.

“I wasn’t even hurt that bad, this time,” Tony tries to reassure him.

“I had to do mouth to mouth on you,” Gibbs growls. “You stopped breathing. Your heart stopped. Fornell…”

“Tell me Fornell didn’t give me mouth to mouth,” Tony shudders and makes a face.

Gibbs cups Tony’s face now, tightening his fingers. “Don’t deflect,” his voice is soft, but the order is clear.

Tony blinks. “Well, I really do hope that Fornell didn’t have to kiss me, Boss,” he grins. “Better you than him. Any day.”

Gibbs rolls his eyes. “No, Fornell didn’t give you mouth to mouth. He did chest compressions and I did the mouth to mouth.”

“I’m good with that,” Tony says cheerfully.

“ _DiNozzo_ ,” Gibbs growls. “The point being, you weren’t alive for a few minutes.”

“But I’m alive now,” Tony points out. “So it’s all good.”

Gibbs sighs, closes his eyes and puts his forehead on Tony’s. “Too fucking close, Tony,” he says softly.

Almost of their own volition, Tony’s hand goes to Gibbs’ cheek, caressing the stubbled face gently. “It’s OK, Gibbs,” he says, matching Gibbs’ tone. “I’m OK. I promise.” His fingers meander into Gibbs’ hair, gently stroking him, feeling the tenseness in Gibbs’ body. “I promise,” he says again in a husky whisper.

Gibbs sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as Tony keeps stroking his hair. “Hated this op,” Gibbs whispers, palm on Tony’s cheek again, rubbing his thumb on Tony’s jaw, a hair’s breadth from his lower lip.

“Sorry, Boss,” Tony sounds sad. “You know I had to be DeAngelis.”

“I know.”

“I don’t usually flaunt the guys like that,” he says sadly.

“I know.”

“McGee didn’t even suspect that about me,” Tony sounds amused.

Gibbs snorts, forehead still on Tony’s, thumb now rubbing Tony’s lower lip. “I hated every minute of it,” he finally said. “Hearing you with those men.”

Tony tries to pull away, his face hot with embarrassment. “Can we not talk about that?” he whispers. “I’d really rather not talk about that part.”

Gibbs’ hand moves from Tony’s back to the back of his head, refusing to let the younger man pull away, keeping them close for moment. Then he pulls back a couple inches and looks at the blushing man.

“It’s not every day that your boss and a whole surveillance team listens in and records you having sex in the men’s room at gay clubs,” Tony says, averting his eyes from the blue-eyed scrutiny. “Knowing you guys were listening to me. It’s weird and uncomfortable. And I’d rather we not dwell on that.”

Gibbs grunts his agreement, his thumb still casually rubbing Tony’s lower lip. “No more slutty undercover ops,” he finally growls.

Tony huffs a bark of wry laughter. “I say that after every fucking slutty undercover op,” he says sadly. “But there are always extenuating circumstances.”

“No more slutty undercover ops,” Gibbs repeats. “Hear me?”

“You can’t just say that,” Tony says reasonably. “Although I am getting older now. So hopefully someone younger and prettier than me can be the slut next time.”

“No,” Gibbs insists. “No more. I can’t take it anymore.”

Tony stills the thumb on his lip with a gentle hand. “Only agents who are married or in a relationship can really be exempt from these things. And with my track record, it’s easy to see why they look at me.”

“Then we have to change things.”

“I can’t just go find me a wife or a husband just so you don’t have to sit through an op like this one, Gibbs,” Tony says, shaking his head. “There’s no one like that in my life.”

“There’s _me_ ,” Gibbs says fiercely.

Tony smiles. “You’re my Boss,” he says gently.

“We’ve been partners a long time.”

“Doesn’t mean you want to take me home and fuck me, Boss, much less have anything remotely serious with me,” Tony says sadly. “I’ve known that since the beginning.”

Gibbs stares at him for a long moment, and even in the dark, Tony feels as if Gibbs’ blue eyes are piercing through his veils and armor and masks, right through to his soul. He growls angrily. “You don’t know everything.”

“Boss?” Tony’s eyes widen, and Gibbs sees his pulse point pounding in his neck.

“You _don’t_ know everything,” Gibbs repeats gruffly. “I wanted to kill every one you kissed, and mutilate everyone who gave you a blow job on this op.”

“W-what? Why?”

“When Mason had you, you said you were in love with someone who wasn’t into you. Is that true?”

“I said _what_?”

“Tony. Is it true?”

Tony’s breaths come in short pants, Gibbs’ hand still holding him firmly behind his head, refusing to let him go, meeting his wide eyed gaze with his own fierce glare.

Tony averts his eyes.

“Look at me, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes return to Gibbs’ meeting his gaze, wide eyed and scared. “T-told you that I might s-say things when I’m all drugged up,” he pants.

“You were specific. You said the man you love doesn’t love you back.”

Tony shrugs. “Could be anyone.”

“Smells like coffee and sawdust? Likes boats?”

Tony flushes, averting his gaze again.

“Tony. Is it me?”

The younger man tries to turn away, but Gibbs’ hand on the back of his neck keeps him from escaping.

“Answer the question, Tony.”

Tony pulls himself away, throwing himself back against the pillows, green eyes shimmering with tears. “Fuck, Gibbs. What does it matter if I’m in love with you or not? We both know you’re not into guys. You’re not into me.”

Gibbs blows out a breath, a sigh of relief. “So you _are_ in love with me,” he says again, not making it a question.

Tony turns his face away, biting his lower lip, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah,” he finally says. “But it doesn’t affect work,” he says morosely. “Or our friendship. I’ve been in love with you forever and it hasn’t affected anything. But I’ll understand if you want to kick me off your team.”

“Tony…” Gibbs cups his face and makes him turn back to him.

The younger man finally meets Gibbs’ calm gaze, his green eyes cloudy and troubled.

“I don’t want you off my team,” Gibbs says softly, thumb moving gently, caressing Tony’s jaw.

“Oh. Good,” Tony sighed, relieved.

Gibbs taps Tony’s head, a shadow of a head slap, since the younger agent has had difficulty getting over the headache. “I’ve always wanted to take you home and fuck you,” Gibbs says, his voice hoarse, “but the problem is, I’d never let you go.”

Tony’s eyes widen, staring at his boss in shock. “W-what?” he stammers.

Gibbs sighs, takes Tony’s hand and presses a kiss on the inside of his wrist, making him shudder. “Didn’t want to just be a notch on your bedpost,” he admits hoarsely.

Tony looks at him, green eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

“Breathe,” Gibbs coaches him softly, and he exhales, realizing that he has been holding his breath for a while.

“Uh, did you…? I mean… W-what are you…? Wait. Huh?” he finally stops and frowns at Gibbs. “What are you saying? Exactly?”

Gibbs smiles at him. “First time you’re at a loss for words,” he smirks.

Tony closes his eyes and tries to move away again, and again, Gibbs keeps a firm hold of him. “This is some weird drugged up dream,” Tony mumbles.

“Not a dream, DiNozzo,” Gibbs tells him.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Boss.”

Gibbs leans close, licks his lips, and gently presses his lips to Tony’s, a gentle, chaste kiss.

Tony freezes, eyes wide and unblinking. Gibbs’ hand on the back of his head, fists his hair and angles his head as he leans in and kisses Tony again, his lips warm and firm, soft fluttering kisses on Tony’s lips, sucking in his lower lip, while his other hand caresses Tony’s cheek and jaw.

“Not a dream,” Gibbs whispers softly, kissing down Tony’s jawline and seeking out the spot right below his ear, pleased when it makes him shudder and moan breathily. He pulls away and sees that Tony’s eyes are closed, his breaths coming in ragged pants. But there are lines of pain around Tony’s eyes. “But let’s get you back to sleep and we can talk about this more in the morning.”

“ _What_?” Tony’s eyes snap open.

“C’mon, do you need the head? I’m going to get the nurse. You need more pain meds.”

“I’m OK,” Tony whispers, his voice not working. “No more pain meds.”

“Look,” Gibbs says, looking deep into Tony’s eyes, one hand still on his cheek. “I think we have a lot to talk about. But I want to do it when you’re not in pain, or drugged up. And not so… vulnerable.”

Tony’s expression hardens. “I’m not…”

“Shhh,” Gibbs orders him, but tenderly. “Go back to sleep, and when they let you go tomorrow, you’ll come stay with me for a while. We can talk better when you’re at home with me and we have all the time in the world. OK?”

“But…” Tony suddenly looks lost.

“Tony,” Gibbs says sternly.

“OK,” he mumbles, capitulating.

“Hey,” Gibbs says forcefully, finger under the younger man’s chin, forcing him to look up. “Not going to change my mind about this.”

“But… why?”

“You’ve always been mine,” Gibbs tells him. “Just waiting for you to realize it, too.”

Tony looks confused.

“I’ve loved you a long time, Tony,” Gibbs says hoarsely. “Didn’t think you’d ever love me back. Didn’t want to just be a one night stand for you. But I love you too. Always have.”

Tony gasps, stunned.

“Not going to change my mind or ignore this anymore,” Gibbs continues. “Almost _lost_ you, Tony. I can’t go through that again.”

Tony stares at him.

“Come on. Let’s go back to sleep, and I’ll take you home with me tomorrow if Pitt lets you go, and we can talk some more. I promise,” Gibbs presses a kiss to Tony’s temple and gently presses him back down onto his pillows. “Breathe, Anthony…” he has to remind the younger man.

Tony blows out the held breath and begins breathing again, and just lies back, watching Gibbs with big, green eyes that look confused and uncertain.

“I promise,” Gibbs says, one hand pushing the hair off his forehead and then carding them through his hair gently, the other holding Tony’s hand and pressing soft kisses on his knuckles. “Go to sleep.”

Even though he is torn, and confused, and unsure, Tony does hurt all over, and his eyelids are heavy. Besides, he hasn’t yet disobeyed a direct order given by his boss. So he relaxes against the pillows, almost against his will, and Gibbs’ fingers in his hair are soothing. He falls back into an uneasy sleep fairly quickly, and Gibbs stays, petting him and kissing his hand for a long while, hoping to soothe him.


	11. Chapter 11

When Ducky walks into the room in the morning, both Gibbs and Tony are still asleep. Gibbs has his head on an elbow on Tony’s bed, one of Tony’s hands clasped in both of his, and Tony has turned on his side facing Gibbs, his body curled loosely around the older man’s head, one arm hugging Bert the Hippo. The elderly ME is unable to stop the smile as he looks at this cozy tableau. It occurs to him that he should step out before he wakes either of them, but Gibbs startles and sits up with a snort.

“Ah, Jethro, I’m sure you smelled the coffee,” Ducky says, keeping his voice low so as to not wake Tony. He hands Gibbs the cup of coffee and stands, reviewing Tony’s chart. He is pleased to note that while Gibbs grunted a thanks and starts sipping his coffee, he has continued to hold Tony’s hand and not tried to move away from the younger agent.

Gibbs spots the elderly ME’s sharp eyes on their joined hands. “We got a problem, Duck?” he says icily, raising an eyebrow.

Ducky snorts. “It’s about time, Jethro,” he says quietly. “That boy has loved you without hope long enough.”

Gibbs’ face grows hot and Ducky smiles at the blushing man. “I didn’t know how he felt,” he says gruffly.

“He hides it well,” Ducky grins. “As do you.”

Gibbs shrugs.

“Well, based on this chart, I do not see why young Doctor Pitt won’t discharge Anthony today,” Ducky flips through the chart. “Has he slept through the night?”

“Nightmare woke him up, but then he went back to sleep.”

Ducky nods. “Is he remembering the rape?”

Gibbs shakes his head. “He says not. Just the usual bad dreams.”

“Does he get them often?”

Gibbs shrugs. “I hear him sometimes if he stays over.”

“That will make it difficult to ascertain how affected he is by this,” Ducky sighs.

“He said he would tell me if he starts getting flashbacks or nightmares about it.”

“Will he actually tell you?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Ducky nods.

“I’ll keep a good eye on him when he gets out.”

“I know you will, Jethro. Perhaps you can also use this time to truly speak to each other. About important things?” Ducky gives their joined hands a pointed look.

Gibbs grunts noncommittally.

“Jethro, you cannot keep ignoring your own feelings,” Ducky scolds him.

Gibbs rolls his eyes and tightens his grip on Tony’s hand. “Ain’t ignoring it now, am I?”

“Yes, but Anthony is asleep. You may ignore it when he’s awake. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” Ducky chides him.

“M’not asleep anymore,” Tony’s sleepy voice interrupts. He yawns, but otherwise doesn’t move a muscle, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Not with you two talking about me as if I wasn’t here. What’s Gibbs not ignoring now?”

“This,” Gibbs raises Tony’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently, and Tony’s eyes flutter open and he stares at Gibbs in shock.

“Yep. This,” Gibbs repeats, rubbing Tony’s hand on his cheek before dropping another soft kiss on his knuckles. He smiles and reluctantly releases Tony’s hand to help position the bed so Tony can sit up comfortably. He kisses Tony’s temple gently and brushes his fingers through Tony’s hair before he sits back down. Tony stares, wide eyed and unblinking, in complete disbelief at Gibbs. He finally turns and gives Ducky a shocked look.

“I saw it too, Anthony,” Ducky assures him, grinning happily. “You didn’t just imagine that.”

“Uhmm,” Tony turns and stares at Ducky and then Gibbs.

Gibbs leans forward and whispers in his ear, “Told you it wasn’t a dream and that I’m not going to change my mind or ignore this.”

Tony nods stupidly, his face flushing slightly.

Gibbs grins at him. “Should’ve done this a long time ago, Duck,” he says casually, out loud, “since this is the first time I’ve ever seen him completely silenced.”

“Oh, be nice to the poor boy,” Ducky grumbles, feeling Tony’s forehead. “He’s had several shocks to his system.”

Gibbs grins. The two older men wait while Tony’s brain slowly processes what has just happened.

“Breathe,” Gibbs tells him, and he begins breathing again, unconsciously holding his breath. Gibbs grins at him, thinking about how many times he’s had to prompt Tony into remembering to breathe.

“Did you just out us to Ducky?” Tony finally asks.

“ _That’s_ what you got from that?” Gibbs shakes his head, a wry grin teasing at his lips.

“And you’re…OK… with this?” Tony turns his worried eyes to the ME.

“It’s about time, my boy,” Ducky pats him reassuringly. “I’ve watched you two pine for each other for years now. I’m happy neither of you are ignoring this anymore.”

“Does _everybody_ know?” Tony practically whines, pulling his hand out of Gibbs’.

Ducky shakes his head. “No, Anthony. You and Jethro have not been at all transparent. Especially not to each other. But I had my suspicions, which I have kept to myself all these years. So I shall not speak of this to anyone until you are both ready.”

“Thanks, Duck,” Gibbs says, pulling Tony’s hand back into his. Tony’s ears turn pink when Gibbs interlaces their fingers.

“But Anthony, you must not ignore what happened to you during this op,” Ducky says, looking at him with serious eyes. “This isn’t something to just close off. Pretending it didn’t happen will only harm you. Even though you do not remember what happened, you must speak to Jethro or myself, or Doctor Pitt, should you begin to have nightmares or flashbacks.”

“Yes, Ducky,” Tony says obediently.

“And none of that ‘I’m fine’ crap when you mean the exact opposite,” Gibbs grumbles.

Tony rolls his eyes and winces. His headache is still quite present. But for the first time in years, he feels hopeful. Despite the injuries and how the op turned out for him, they’d stopped the perp, and Gibbs is here, holding his hand, assuring him that he will be taken home to Gibbs’ house – the one place that he has always felt safe in, even more than his own apartment, and that he will be cared for and even loved. He stares in wonder at Gibbs who takes every opportunity to touch him – holding his hand, running his fingers through his hair, kissing his temple, his cheek, his hands, even chaste kisses on his lips when they are alone.

There are questions to be answered – how does this change things at work, or does it? Will Tony have to leave the team? What about Rule #12? Or will they keep it quiet and secret, and therefore nothing will be affected? Can he live with that?

Every so often, Gibbs reminds him to breathe and he obediently moves his diaphragm. Funny how he can’t seem to remember to keep breathing while Gibbs is being so unlike himself. Which sends him into another spiral of worry: that Gibbs is changing. Why would Gibbs change? The marine has been his Boss, his constant for so long, and he needs that. Needs Gibbs to remain himself. Which brings up the question of how can this work between them if Gibbs isn’t himself anymore?

“Hey,” Gibbs’ voice breaks through his worried internal monologue.

He turns his eyes on Gibbs’ blue ones, so calm and reassuring, so filled with love. For him. He can’t help but smile in response.

“I can hear you worrying about everything from all the way over here,” Gibbs tells him.

Tony shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip. No point denying it. Besides, Gibbs has always been able to read him.

Gibbs’ warm hand is on his cheek, gently caressing him. “Don’t overthink it,” the older man says softly. “We’ll figure it out. Together. No rush. It will all work out. I’ll make sure of it. I love you,” he says, and Tony can’t help but believe him. Besides, that arrogant statement, that Gibbs will make sure that they’ll work things out, if anyone else had ever said that to him he would be on his way out the door at the arrogance and presumption. But here, he feels comforted. Gibbs is still Gibbs. Still imperious, overbearing, commanding, and quite possibly still a bastard. And that’s who he’s been in love with all these years. The worried haze begins clearing from Tony’s mind.

They’ll figure it all out together. And it will all work out. Tony smiles, love shining in his eyes for this man who has been his rock for all these years, and who is finally his. His to hold, his to touch, his to love. He pulls Gibbs down, fingers in Gibbs’ silver hair, and smiles up at him, a wide open smile, one Gibbs has never seen.

“Love you, too,” Tony says, and pulls him down for a kiss, a proper, non-chaste kiss, where Tony licks his way into Gibbs’ mouth and sucks on his tongue. Gibbs places a knee on the bed and braces his arms on either side of Tony’s head, kissing him back hungrily, devouring Tony’s mouth, laying claim in the way he’d wanted to for years, reveling in the moans he pulls from the younger man.

He finally pulls away from Tony’s luscious lips, ignoring the younger man’s whimper of protest. Breathing hard, Gibbs places their foreheads together.

“Mean it,” he says softly. “No rush. Let’s get you home, and we’ll figure everything out, OK?”

Tony nods.

Gibbs drops a soft kiss on the corner of Tony’s mouth. “You believe me?”

Tony looks into Gibbs’ blazing blue eyes. “I do.” And it feels like a vow. Tony believes it. They will work things out and he will finally get the one thing he’s always wanted – Gibbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to a lot of different songs as I wrote this story and writing the story took quite a while. It's different when there's a deadline too. :) But I would say that these two songs are the songs I listened to a lot when I thought about the plot, and also all the clubbing scenes:  
> * [Que Onda Guero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9nvvmILcaU) by Beck  
> * [How Many Fucks Do I Give](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXCLDj9tBBM) by Erika Jayne
> 
> Thanks to all of you who encouraged me to finish the story, and focus on it when the muse started wandering. I hope you like this story.
> 
> I realize that we didn't get to any Tony/Gibbs smut in this one but it felt like there was so much more that needed to happen. That Tony and Gibbs need to work things out, figure things out, find out what they are to each other, what they can be to each other, and they really can't do that in a quick 3-5k chapter, given the buildup getting here. So I thought I would end this story here, and hopefully one day write a sequel where their story actually together begins.
> 
> There is also the whole thing about Tony being roofied and raped. Again, I didn't want to minimize the kind of recovery that that entails, so I imagine that that story would also be part of the sequel (if I ever write it).
> 
> I really did try to write a meatier ending but it really felt like another 20k words minimum and I really didn't want to give you a half-assed badly thrown together Tony and Gibbs get together and suddenly everything is all happy and stress free. So instead, I thought I'd end it on a hopeful note, where they're together, and have so much more to look forward to. And hopefully that feels like less of a cop out than a 5k hastily put together HEA ending.
> 
> Again, huge huge thanks to my beta-reader jesco0307, without whose valuable input this story would be much less than it is, and maybe even not completed, as I was losing steam. All errors are mine. And if you spot anything funky, please do let me know so I can fix it. Posting all the chapters all at once is SO stressful and not my usual MO and I know I will have missed a lot of things in my final edits.
> 
> I am floored by the [gorgeous artwork](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8313055) that [knowmefirst](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowmefirst/pseuds/Knowmefirst) created for this story! Thank you so, so much!
> 
> Also many thanks to all of you who have been encouraging me to write and finish this. Especially to cutsycat who keeps telling me to edit edit edit when I whined at her on email and in comments. I wonder what I will whine about to her now that this story is complete? ;)
> 
> And if you haven't yet, go check out the rest of this year's NCIS Big Bang stories (click on the Collection link on this story). :D
> 
> Thank you again! :D
> 
> -j  
> xoxo

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Banner & Wallpaper] Bait](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313055) by [Knowmefirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowmefirst/pseuds/Knowmefirst)




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